


Origin

by Behind_Blue_Eyes



Category: Angel - Fandom, Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Adult Content, Cross-Post, Crossover, Drama & Romance, F/M, Post-Canon, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:42:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 38,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4213593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Behind_Blue_Eyes/pseuds/Behind_Blue_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy is haunted by reoccurring dreams of a lost love and how the first slayer came to be.  In her quest for understanding, she comes across an ancient tome in which she has an unexplainable deep connection to.  Needing to know why and what is locked inside it's pages, she finds herself relying upon some old and unexpected allies for their help.  Yet the question remains, if this book is possibly the key to unlocking a mystery generations in the making, is she prepared to learn the true origin of a slayer's power?</p>
<p> <br/><b>Nominated at the Sunnydale Memorial Fanfiction Awards (Round 32): Best Drama, Best NC-17, Best Pairing Conventional, Best Plot, Best Post-Series Fic, Best Unfinished Fic, Best Characterization: Buffy.  Many thanks!</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I understand my story (minus the "S") is the title of another well-loved story by Niamh. Although I've never read the story (sorry Niamh) I assure you, this is COMPLETELY different and if there are any similarities, they were unintentional.

**“In every generation there is a chosen one. She alone will stand against the vampires,  
the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the slayer.”**

**—“Welcome to the Hellmouth”**

Buffy struggled against her chains. Her heart pounded in time with the Shadow Men’s primitive rhythm. A seemingly ordinary box was opened and placed on the floor. It was nothing special except for what was inside. What they expected to be inside her. 

Sentient tendrils of black smoke pulsated and licked at the air. Looming above her, it searched for her weaknesses then struck. Forcing its way inside, it writhed and twisted up her nose and in her ears. With every ounce of strength, she fought back—screaming. Releasing hold, it retreated to the ceiling before returning. Coiling and snaking around her in a macabre dance. 

Wide-eyed she watched it expand and take shape of the Master. His fruit-punch stained mouth twisted in a sneer. Then it shifted, changed. She shivered under Angelus’ demonic gaze roaming over her in a lewd perusal. Then it shifted again. Changing into what she dreaded far more. From beneath a ridged brow, piercing blues bore into her very soul.

“Slayer.”

 

Buffy jolted and sat straight up, panting. Fisting the bedding, she tried to stop from shaking. 

“Another nightmare, sweetheart?” Groggy, Spike sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes.

“Yeah, I hate that one.” 

“Come ‘ere.” Spike opened his arms. Buffy nestled and molded into his side. He held up his hand and she placed hers against his. Palm to palm. 

“I love you.” She held his gaze, her eyes shining with tears.

“No you don’t, but thanks for saying it.” 

Their hands ignited into flames, and with a gut-wrenching, derisive laugh, bit by bit Spike disintegrated into dust. 

 

Buffy jolted and sat straight up, panting. Fisting the bedding, she tried to stop from shaking. 

“I really hate that one.” 

 

** ** **

 

“So which one was it? Presto chango smoke or, you know, the other one?” Dawn slurped her cappuccino, leaving behind a foamy stache. 

“Not or. Both.”—Buffy plopped down onto the living room couch, eyeing Dawn—“I thought we agreed no more rocket fuel for you.” 

“Yeah, well, somebody kept me up all night, and if I don’t wanna be among the walking dead...”—Dawn finished in one gulp—“Oh! I gotta go, meeting Concetta in ten. She’s helping me with Macbeth. We’re at the part when the ghost crashes the dinner party.” 

“Okay. I’d say have fun, but you know, homework.”—realizing her mistake, Buffy straightened and plastered on a smile—“Which is very, very important, so have fun. Yay, homework!” 

Dawn gathered her things and headed to the door. She turned back to look at Buffy. The smile was gone and she was staring off into space. 

“Buffy, don’t you think it’s time?” Dawn thumbed the black spiked key chain hanging from her backpack. Originally she bought it for self-defense, but it meant so much more.

“Time for what?”—going off the universal teenage ‘Really?’ look Dawn gave, Buffy sighed—“You want me to talk to Giles.”

“Those dreams gotta mean something, right? You know, with the whole slayer vision quest thingy you got goin’ on.” 

“Or they could mean nothing. Could just be nightmares. Or guilt. Or guilty nightmares. Not everything in my head is a Powers that Be after school special.” Buffy focused on a piece of loose thread hanging from her pajama bottoms. 

“Buffy, we all knew what we signed up for going against the First. It was the work we had to do. Yeah, there’s guilt, probably for all of us. But we’ll be okay. We have to be strong. Be brave. Live. If we don’t, what was the point of their sacrifice?” Dawn shifted her bag and sat next to Buffy, taking her hand.

“When did you get to be so smart?” Buffy gave a half smile, though she was bursting with pride.

“I’m not just a pretty face, you know. Plus, I kinda remember hearing something similar before.” Buffy pulled Dawn into a hug. They shared several moments before Dawn pulled away.

“Hey, don’t think you’re off the hook.”—Dawn shifted into lecture mode—“So I really doubt these repeato vision dreams are nothing. I mean, come on, it’s been like over a month…” 

“One-hundred and sixty-four days.” 

“Buffy!” 

“What? It’s not like it’s every night. Only the last month or so. Plus, the whole creature double feature? Just twice. Really no biggie.” Buffy tried pulling off blasé. It didn’t work.

Dawn stood and stomped over to Buffy’s purse. Haphazardly dumping the contents on the kitchen counter, she grabbed what she was looking for and shoved Buffy’s cell phone into her hand.

“Call Giles.” In a whirl of long brown hair and attitude, she was gone. 

“Geez, rude much?” 

“Heard that!” Dawn yelled from the other side of the door. 

“You were meant to!” Giving in, Buffy checked the clock and tried to figure out what time it was in England.

 

** ** **

 

For the most part, Giles kept relatively quiet. Only interrupting with a few “Quite interesting” and one or two “Dear Lords” during her whole lengthy ramble. Buffy purposefully left out her other Spike dream. First off, even with their well-known sordid history, Spike, Buffy, and bed in the same sentence would’ve led to far more than a “Dear Lord”, and she so didn’t want to go there. Secondly, and more importantly, this wasn’t something she wanted to share. True, she talked to Dawn. Well, kinda. She told Dawn she dreamed of Spike. Yet she’d never really gone into details and Dawn hadn’t pushed. The truth was their final moments together and what played out in her dream was all too intimate. She wasn’t ready to share, if at all, with anyone else. Her memories. Her regrets. They were hers and hers alone.

“Okay, so we know the First Slayer was knocked up with some demon dust, right? That’s like tweed one-o-one. But is it written anywhere what kind of demon it was?” Buffy balanced the phone at her ear as she made a second cup of expresso. 

“During all my many years of training and as a Watcher, I’ve never come across any literature revealing the origin of a slayer’s abilities. It was simply never discussed nor questioned.”

Buffy swore she heard Giles scanning titles and cataloging books in his mind as they spoke.

“There has to be something, Giles. You guys questioned everything. There has to be a book or some long-winded journal somewhere giving the low down on the demon the Shadow Men used.” Buffy dipped her biscotti into the cup, disappointed when half broke off and floated to the top.

“We are still rebuilding, Buffy. The majority of the Council’s records were lost in the explosion. Fortunately, over the last several months, and with the aide of my private collection, local acquisitions and those made by Willow and Xander abroad, we’ve assembled quite an extensive library.” 

“Okay, that’s a start. Gather what you’ve got. Doesn’t matter how little they have on the First Slayer, it’s more than what we have now. I’ll make arrangements for Dawn, and then I’m on the next flight. Just between you and me Giles, Dawn’s right. There’s something to these dreams and I’m gonna find out what.”


	2. Chapter 2

Arrangements for Dawn consisted of waiting until Christmas break, and together, making the trip. Among the throngs of other holiday travelers, they made their way through Bristol Airport with carry-ons in tow. 

“I am so pleased you both arrived safely.” Giles drew Buffy into a hug, then Dawn. He took and shouldered Dawn’s carry-on, and after they collected the rest of the luggage, headed toward the exit. 

En route to the rebuilt Watcher-central in Bath, conversations were kept light, mainly sticking to their day-to-day lives, new interests, and even the weather. Ironically, when reaching the Georgian maisonette, they needed to make a mad dash inside to avoid one of the many infamous England rainstorms. 

After settling in their rooms, Buffy and Dawn headed to the library, and taking in along the way, the beautiful architecture and décor of the arched entryways, intricate woodworking, rich tapestries and fabrics, and every nook and cranny housing dozens of books. 

It was Masterpiece Theater come to life. 

“So Alistair Cookie, don’t tell me you have a smoking jacket and pipe around here somewhere.” Buffy sat down in a leather Club chair, holding back a smile. 

“They’re reserved for Sundays only. Sorry to disappoint.”

Giles hid his own smile while preparing afternoon tea. Buffy watched with amusement his compulsory need to keep his hands busy. Today a matching antique English tea set substituted his long replaced glasses and handkerchief. 

“I’ve gathered all we have on the First Slayer. I’m afraid to say, there isn’t much. On my preliminary review, I have located nothing divulging or alluding to the demon the Shadow Men used or said demon’s origin.” 

Buffy watched as Dawn quickly polished off several Linzer cookies and was heading back for more. Buffy grabbed a few, knowing if she didn’t take any now, she’d get none. Not even a slayer was a match for the ever present evil of a teen’s endless appetite. 

“Then we’ll just keep looking.” Buffy popped a cookie in her mouth. It tasted even better than she’d thought.

 

** ** ** 

 

Two weeks. Two weeks and nothing more than National Geographic-esque commentaries about the First Slayer fashioning her stakes from Leadwood trees and preferred meals of grasshoppers over beetles. Of all the painstaking entries, the hardest to read was how she was banished from her tribe. The Shadow Men made her the first social pariah and condemned her and those in the future slayer line to a life of solitude. 

Buffy had never been more grateful for her family and friends.

Christmas and New Year’s came and went without a hitch. The festivities were all Dawn’s doing. Buffy loved it and so did Giles. Not that he’d ever admit a Charlie Brown Christmas tree™ and sparkly New Year’s foil top hats made him smile. 

Then it came time for Dawn to return to school. Buffy was ready to give up the search and deal with the nightly dose of freaky dreams on her own. Well, this was the plan until it became evident Dawn clearly had other ideas. Namely Xander arriving that day, and tomorrow night just the two of them were heading back to Rome. 

“Honeys, I’m home!” Xander called out from the front door, Buffy and Dawn rushed to welcome him with a group hug.

“You know, this is usually the beginning of some of my really non-PG dreams.” Xander winked, which stopped him from seeing Buffy’s non-slayer strength smack coming.

“Ouch. Gotcha, no letters to Penthouse.” Xander rubbed the back of his head while they made their way to the study. 

The group settled in while Xander regaled them with tales of his travels and close calls. Later that evening, Dawn recreated a combo Christmas and New Year’s—a sort of ‘Newmas’. Complete with Xander’s rendition of the Snoopy Dance and more silly hats. Buffy knew this whole thing was just Dawn’s ploy to get more presents. That was fine with her, especially since she finally got to wear the jeweled tiara Dawn had been hogging.

“Okay, gather round kiddies and let’s see what Ol’Saint Nick has in his bag.” For effect, Xander leisurely searched through his worn-weathered travel backpack, and with a hint of mock-surprise, held up his find.

“Is there a Dawn here?” 

Dawn squealed and dropped herself on Xander’s lap, grabbing and unwrapping her gift in one fell swoop.—“Oh my god! I so love it!”—She hugged the onyx statue. Then stood and rushed to show Buffy.

“What is it?” Buffy eyed the odd looking figure. 

“It’s Akuaba!”—Going off of Buffy’s ‘Huh?’ look, Dawn explained—“She’s kinda like an African Kokopelli.” 

“Oh. Oh...”—Buffy watched how Dawn held the statue and cradled its saucer-sized head —“Okay, please let’s not get too kissy-huggy with the whole creepy baby-making doll.”

“Sorry, Buff, but I just hadda get it for her. I remembered a few years back how upset she was with the whole mass witchy cleanup. Plus, not to worry, I’m on strict Dawn-duty. There will be no while in Rome-ing goin’ on when I’m in charge.”—Xander saluted, then pulled out another gift—“Buffy?”

“Gimme, gimme, gimme.”—Buffy smiled, sat on Xander’s lap and took her gift. Tearing off the paper, she’d immediately became misty eyed—“Oh Xander, it’s beautiful.”

“It’s an mpomponsuo. They’re only given to the most respected warriors. And see here,”—Xander pointed to the symbols on the sheath—“they mean responsibility, power, loyalty, bravery and authority. You know, your basic ‘I’m-a-bad-ass-don’t-mess-with-me slayer’s sword.’”

“Thank you, I love it.” Buffy hugged Xander tightly and stood up, eyes never leaving her gift.

“And that alone was worth all the trouble getting through customs and learning how to say mpomponsuo.”— Xander clapped and rubbed his hands together—“Now, I think I might have one present left.” Xander rummaged through his bag.

“Well, if you think I’m going to sit on your lap, Xander, you’re sadly mistaken.” Giles sipped his scotch.

“Darn, no sweet lovin’ from the stuffy British man. Oh well, I’m still feeling generous. So here.” Xander stood and handed Giles a wrapped bundle, which he placed on his desk and peeled back the protective, worn linen revealing a leather-bound tome.

“I came across some shaman guy, who was willing to trade for my collection of Babylon 5 comic books. I’m still thinking he got the better end of the deal, but, um, Merry and Happy Newmas!” Xander beamed a smile.

“Actually, he’s a sangoma. They are an interesting and influential group of healers. Dealing with every issue from political roles in the community, to birth and death rituals, to finding lost cattle.”—Giles carefully turned the parchment, his interest growing with each turn—“Per chance, had he deciphered the contents?” 

“Well, I tried asking him, but you know. The whole lost in translation thing happened. So nada. I just thought it’s a book and you’re Giles. So it was pretty much a shoe-in as far as a gift giving goes.” 

“Oh course, it’s brilliant, Xander. Thank you. Do you recall what part of Africa you were visiting? This would aid greatly in giving a starting point in the selection process from hundreds of African dialects.” 

Curious to get a look, Buffy sheathed her sword and moved next to Giles. She instantly felt pure energy radiating from the book. She reached out, yet was hesitant to actually touch. 

“Um, Giles?” 

“Yes, yes of course, Buffy. We have other pressing matters at hand. My indulgences must wait till another time.” Giles closed the book. 

“Actually, Giles. Indulge away. I’m totally getting full-on-body tinglies here. It’s like, I don’t know, I’m connected to this somehow.”—Buffy placed her hand on the cover, her expression set and determined—“This is what we’ve been looking for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a brief moment to let me know your thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

“Slayer.” 

Buffy jolted and sat straight up, panting. She looked around to get her bearings. She must’ve drifted off in Giles’ library while researching. Not that it mattered. Each text was as useless as the last in figuring out what was written in the book Xander so comically dubbed, “Good Vibrations.” 

The name was as good as any since they hadn’t a clue what else to call the damn thing. 

 

** ** ** 

 

Research started off hopeful. Like a little boy with a brand new toy, Giles spent the rest of ‘Newmas’ as well as the days after studying the pages of the tingle-inducing book. His translating efforts started with the local African dialects near where Xander had found the tome, but having no luck, Giles expanded the search to the languages used throughout Africa. When that proved fruitless, he moved into parts then the whole of Asia and Europe. With each dead end, his search spanned out further and further, soon reaching the four corners of the globe. Exhausting every human language, even those dead and long forgotten, he tried the demon languages. No roar, grunt, growl or hiss was ruled out. 

Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Not a single word. 

Swallowing his pride, Giles was forced to admit that they needed help. Help from a place neither felt exactly comfortable to go but went anyways. 

Magic.

Giles contacted Ms. Harkness from the Devon Coven, and after some British pleasantries, he finally asked for her help. She responded with a cheeky, “What took you so long? It’s been over a week since we’ve felt the presence of something very old and very powerful.” She then instructed him the Coven needed a day to prepare and abruptly ended the call.

The next day, thirteen Wiccans chanted and commanded goddesses to do their will. Until dozens of pillar candles were nothing but puddles of wax and snuffed out flames. Until each Wicca was at the point of utter exhaustion. 

“Sorry, Rupert,” was all Ms. Harkness said before giving a soft conciliatory smile and leaving.

 

** ** ** 

 

It had been a month since Buffy’s arrival. One month, and neither of them were any closer to figuring out what secrets the book held. Yet each of them was more eager than ever to know. 

 

** ** ** 

 

“No, I don’t agree with you in the least.” 

Buffy heard Giles out in the hallway. She peeked out the door and noticed he was on the phone. Judging by his tone, he was clearly none too happy.

“I am well aware of the risks. We are far more equipped in handling our own without aide from you or your associates, I assure you.”—Giles paced as far as the telephone cord allowed—“Yes, on the next flight. I will send one of my best men. Yes, yes. Goodbye.”

Giles ended the call. His hand remained on the receiver, appearing lost in thought. 

“So who was that?” Buffy stepped into the hallway.

Giles turned; his expression quickly changed from irritated to uneasy. “Buffy?” 

“Giles.”—Buffy shifted into her classic ‘no-nonsense’ stance—“Now we’ve done Mickey Mouse roll call, who was on the phone?” 

“Well, you see. It was…”—with a heavy sigh, Giles sank into the plush telephone table seat—“Wesley. On the behalf of Angel.”

“Angel? What did Wesley want? Is everything okay?” Buffy dropped her stance and moved closer.

“Not exactly, no. Apparently, Angel and his team located a slayer. Who by all accounts, is without a Watcher and is alarmingly unwell.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense. Willow didn’t scrimp on the whole slayer package with bonus super healing mojo. Wouldn’t whatever was wrong with her before…just go away?”

“Not this.” Giles didn’t elaborate, but his expression spoke volumes.

“Then we, I have to get her. Like, now.” Buffy turned to head to her room and pack for the next flight to LA. Only Giles’ assertion made her stop.

“I don’t trust him, not in the least.” Giles stood, all hesitation gone from his voice.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving her. Who knows what those doctors did when she told them about the dreams. The meds they must’ve forced down her throat. Or worse. And now she’s really a slayer, not knowing what the hell is happening to her. She must be terrified.” Buffy turned, wiping away stray tears. 

“We won’t delay a moment longer than necessary, Buffy, I promise you. However, we mustn’t rush into this. Neither Angel nor his team is to be trusted. Their allegiances have shifted, and their once-priority of fighting the good fight replaced by power and corruption. I cannot and will not risk you by throwing you to the wolves.” Giles stepped closer, offering Buffy comfort.

“I don’t understand. What has Angel done?”

“Let’s sit down and I will explain.” 

Giles entered the library with Buffy in tow. While he made tea, he recounted Angel, Wesley and the rest of Angel Investigations’ unscrupulous arrangement with Angel’s once-sworn enemy, Wolfram and Hart, and their having taken over the LA branch, Angel at the helm. With painstaking details, Giles explained exactly who Wolfram and Hart was, what they were capable of, and how they made it a practice of continually manipulating both demon and man’s law to suit their own immoral and criminal intentions. 

By the end, Buffy’s head was spinning. 

“I just can’t believe that Angel…who knows what he’s capable of with Evil Incorporated and an unpredictable slayer at his disposal.”— Buffy paced steadily—“Well, we can’t worry about Team Angel. Not now. What’s the most important is getting Dana outta there.” 

“I am in full agreement, Buffy. However, prudence is the key. We must in some way enter L.A. and leave with Dana. Angel nor Wolfram and Hart none the wiser.”

Buffy paused, a big grin blooming.

“Okay, I have an idea. A really bad idea, but it might just be crazy enough to work. Now, hear me out. We both know Angel isn’t going to let us come waltzing in and take her. Even before he had evil on payroll, Angel always considered L.A. and everything in it his. So what I’m suggesting is the ol’ Trojan Horse. You already told Wesley ‘your best guy’ was coming, right? What if our guy meets with Angel, does the whole song and dance, acting like we need the help of Evil, Inc., to do our job. When in actuality, we go in, take back what’s ours and bring her home.”

“This venture sounds quite risky, Buffy.”

“Yeah, well, risky is my middle name. Well, that and Anne. So it’s settled. Now we just have to figure out who it’s gonna be. He has to be pretty smart but totally unassuming. Enough to fool Angel into believing he doesn’t have to worry about this guy…”

 

** ** ** 

 

“Just to clarify, when I meant Trojan Horse, I didn’t mean the tail end of the thing.” Buffy rolled her eyes, her sarcastic remark loud in an otherwise quiet room. 

“Now, Buffy, you requested unassuming. I believe he precisely meets your requirement.” Giles leaned over slightly and lowered his voice, trying not to further disrupt the meeting in progress.

“I know, I know, but did you haveta pick him?”—eyes narrowing, Buffy glared at Giles—“Oh, now I get it. I’ve done something wrong and this is my punishment, isn’t it?” 

“Evil walks amongst the shadows, committing misdeeds under the cover of darkness. I, myself, have touched darkness, but the night wasn’t my only time for evil. Yet I’ve redeemed myself, fought against the evil lure of…um…evil. As I, there are others who’ve cast aside their villainous ways.” For dramatic effect, Andrew stopped pacing and pivoted to face the group of young Watchers, straightening the lapels of his tweed jacket.

“Yet one cannot live in the world of what ifs or doubt. One must know evil comes in all forms, from all walks of life, and wears many faces. Watchers must know thy enemy. First and foremost, we must learn of the Vampyr. Now go, my prodigies! Learn! Watch! Oh, and don’t forget to read pages 275 to 345!”

The room cleared, leaving just Buffy and Giles in the back row. 

“Welcome, welcome, my mentor and fearless leader, Master Giles, and Vampyr Slayer Extraordinaire, Ms. Summers. What could have I possibly done to be bestowed such an honor of not just one, but both of your presences in my humble classroom?” Andrew headed towards them, fanboy gushing the entire time. 

“Hey. Um…good class, Andrew. Very Watchery. You know, with all the tweed and the long-windedness you’ve got going on. Yeah, so that’s kinda why we’re here. The Watcher bit, not the class. Well, not exactly. Well, it’s sorta complicated…so that’s why Giles will tell you!” Buffy smiled, holding out her hands towards Giles as if he was the grand prize on a game show. 

“Yes, Andrew. As Buffy so eloquently stated in her introduction, we are here to discuss a complex situation that requires the utmost discretion. One filled with possible perils and espionage. Are you prepared for such a daunting task?” 

Buffy listened as Giles played off Andrew’s desire to prove himself and become a full-fledge Watcher, all the while glorifying fighting evil. By the time he was done, Andrew appeared battle-ready. Or as battle-ready for someone like Andrew. Yet his readiness hadn’t prepared them for Andrew lowering to one knee and bowing his head. 

“I swear on my honor as a Watcher-in-training, I am ready to lay my life down for the side of good, and infiltrate Wolfram and Hart’s evil stronghold and free our captive slayer. ‘There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no death, there is the Force.’” [i]

Buffy and Giles exchanged looks. Andrew stopped talking but hadn’t moved. Not knowing what else to do, mimicking a king knighting a squire, Giles tapped Andrew’s right then left shoulder. Andrew stood, face alighted with excitement. 

“Now go, young Watcher. You must prepare for the challenging task at hand.” Giles nodded to Andrew, who quickly left the room. 

“That was…yeah, I don’t even know.” Buffy shook her head. 

“Yes, nor do I. Well, except this was improvisation at its finest. Bully for me.” 

“Just as long as he believed you, then it works for me.” Buffy and Giles headed toward the door until Buffy stopped mid-stride. 

“Buffy?” Giles turned, appearing slightly concerned.

“All this talk about figuring things out really got me thinking. You said earlier that Wolfram and Hart is big…like, really big. But are they, like, having-access-to-things-we-don’t big?” 

“That would be accurate, yes. In one form or another, Wolfram and Hart has existed in our world, and dozens or possibly hundreds of other dimensions for, well, literally since the beginning of time. Tracing as far back as the Old Ones. Yet what does this have to do…” Giles stopped mid-sentence, understanding emerging.

“New plan. Two vamps, one stake. I’m heading to LA to save my sister slayer and, once and for all, figuring out what’s in that book. Compliments of Wolfram and Hart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i]Andrew’s little spiel: “There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no death, there is the Force.” Is the Jedi Code http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Jedi_Code
> 
>  
> 
> For all you youngin’s “Good Vibrations” was a 1991 hit by Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch. Those who don’t know Marky Mark, he is more well known as Mark Wahlberg. Back in the day, he brought showing your underwear into fashion and talk about abs for days! http://moremarkymark.tripod.com/ Yup, I have a tender spot in my…heart for him. He’s from my home state! Represent!
> 
> For those older than me, “Good Vibrations” is also a 1964 song by the Beach Boys. 
> 
> If some of the dialog was familiar, it was recycled from "The Man He Was Meant To Be". I loved my Andrew too much to just dump the whole thing. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Please take a mere moment to let me know your thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

Buffy wasn’t used to stepping back and letting someone else take the lead, especially when that someone else was Andrew. Yet there she was, standing by the docks of an abandoned factory with eleven other slayers, listening to Andrew holding his own against Angel. 

Well to be fair, nobody, not even Andrew, knew she was Buffy. Thanks to the glamour the Coven whipped up before she left England. For all intents and purposes, she was a petite, short-haired brunette with big brown eyes, and the real Buffy was still in England.

“No. I don't think you... heard me, Angel.”

On Andrew’s cue, Buffy and the other slayers stepped out from the shadows. The look on Angel’s face was priceless. 

“Think we're just gonna let you take her back to your evil stronghold? Well, as they say in Mexico... No. We're not...gonna... let you.”

“She's psychotic, and I'm not turning her over...to you.” Picking up on Andrew’s hesitation, Angel pounced and asserted his alpha maleness. 

“You don't have a choice. Check the view screen, Uhura. I got twelve Vampyr Slayers behind me, and not one of them has ever dated you. She's coming with us one way or another.” 

Buffy decided that, after giving Andrew props for not backing down, she was so going to kill him for that little dig. 

“You're way outta your league. I'll just clear this with Buffy.” Angel stood a little taller, all male posturing and name dropping.

“Where do you think my orders came from? News flash—nobody in our camp trusts you anymore. Nobody. You work for Wolfram and Hart. Don't fool yourself... we're not on the same side. Thank you for your help... but, uh...we got it.”

Buffy wanted to childishly taunt, “Na-na na-na boo boo,” but instead, she joined her sister slayers in taking Dana away from Team Angel and securing her into the truck. 

In silence, the group drove to a private airport to meet up with Ms. Harkness. Then she, Andrew, Dana and two of the slayers flew back to England. Buffy and the remaining slayers had a brief celebratory pow-wow, then each parted ways.

 

** ** **

 

Buffy headed towards downtown LA, and more specifically, Wolfram and Hart. Once inside the Evil Empire, she ignored her slayer radar going haywire while passing both human and demon alike bustling about like busy worker bees. Busy evil killer bees. It was kinda weird. But the weirdest thing of all was Angel’s receptionist. One of the last people, or more accurately vamp, Buffy had ever expected to see again—Harmony. 

“Can I help you?” All bubblegum pink, sparkly unicorns and saccharine smiles, Harmony smugly eyed Buffy from the bunker of her mammoth desk.

“I’m here to see Angel.” Harmony hadn’t recognized Buffy either, thanks not only to her altered outward appearance, but to the fact that her voice was now imbued with a slightly southern twang. 

“Mr. Angel is extremely busy, and unless you have an appointment, you can’t see him.” 

It was always impressive how Harmony maintained a mega-watt smile while being such a bitch. Kinda like tapping your head and rubbing your tummy type-of-impressive. Buffy decided she didn’t have time for this tête-à-tête, especially with someone totally unarmed. With an eye roll, she headed towards Angel’s office.

“Um…like…excuse me!” Harmony left her mini mahogany fortress and moved quickly to block Buffy’s way.

“Move. Out. Of. My. Way. I’m not asking you twice.” Buffy tried to keep her temper in check, but Harmony was really pushing for a staking. Or at the very least, a bitch slap. Emphasis on bitch. 

“Yeah, so not gonna happen.” Harmony flashed some fang.

Now it was only fair. Since Harmony went there, Buffy responded in kind. Repositioning her hands on her hips, her denim jacket opened and revealed a stake tucked in her waistband. Harmony’s eyes bulged comically. Then she did probably the smartest thing she’d ever done. She stepped aside.

Closing the door behind her with a smug smile, Buffy entered Angel’s office. It was all wood and windows, not really the smartest décor for a vamp. With a quick tour, she took in the plush fabrics and priceless art. Making her way to his huge desk, she noticed some really cool and clearly one-of-a-kind weapons hanging on the back wall. Quite an impressive spread. If she passed judgment based on his office alone, Angel had totally sold his soul for a view and a big ol’slice of evil pie.

Buffy heard a slight commotion coming from reception area.

“Boss! Boss! I wouldn’t go in there, there’s—” Harmony’s frantic voice was starting to reach a pitch that only dogs could hear.

“Harmony, not now.” Angel brushed off Harmony’s warnings and entered his office like, well, like he owned the place.

Angel shut the door and turned towards Buffy. Squaring off, his eyes flashed gold and she heard a low growl as he took in her reclining in his plush leather chair, feet up on his desk and hands behind her head. If Buffy wasn’t who she was now, she surely would’ve backed down. Or at the very least, taken her filthy boots off his shiny desk top. Yet she’d done neither, and all he’d done was pissed her off more.

“You and I have a lot to talk about, Angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andrew and Angel’s dialog is taken directly from Atv’s episode, “Damage”. 
> 
> Please take but a minute to leave your thoughts. Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

“Who the hell are you?” Angel stalked to the center of the room, appearing seconds away from forcibly taking back his position as King of the Mountain. 

Buffy lowered her feet and stood, casually plucking the katana from the back wall. Sliding the sword from its sheath, she inspected the blade.

“Sit down, Angel.” Buffy tested the weight, giving the sword a cursory swing.

Eyes never leaving her, Angel sat down in an adjacent chair. Leaning back, he crossed an ankle over his knee and folded his hands. Ever the picture of leisurely confidence, yet she knew better. The cunning predator he was lingered just beneath the surface, ready to strike. 

“You wanted to talk, so talk.” 

Mirroring his poise, Buffy rounded the desk and leaned against the front. She placed the katana down on the desk top within reach. “Gotta say, pretty fancy set up you got going on here. It’s like IKEA opened up a store. In hell.” 

“Let’s skip the small talk, shall we, and get to the reason why you’re here, slayer.”

Buffy was thrown by the title. It struck that nerve inside. The one tethering her regret and grief, keeping it buried deep down. Well, buried, until she slept. Shaking off her uneasiness, she reminded herself that this was Angel, not him. This thought settled and refocused her on the task at hand. 

“You’re right, I am a slayer. And we have some business to discuss. I have a proposition.”—Buffy crossed her arms over her chest—“See, the way I figure it, Wolfram and Hart are the Ring Leaders of this crazy three-ring show. Well, I’m here to run away with the circus. Say hello to your new star attraction.”

Angel let loose a throaty scoff. “You’re wasting your time and more importantly, mine, little girl.”

“Oh, I thought you were in charge, but if you can’t make it happen then I’ll go straight to the top…”

Angel stood. Moving lightening quick, he was now toe-to-toe with Buffy and tightly holding her wrist, keeping the katana she held from swinging. 

“I don’t know what game you’re playing at or who sent you, but I suggest you leave before regretting you hadn’t.” 

“Look, I’m the complete package. I know you have demons, vamps and even big-time lawyers at your beck and call, but not a one of them can kick major ass with the bonus benies of being human. No nasty blood drinking habit or sneaking around ‘cause I’ve got horns and a tail, and those are just the problems of the lawyers…”—Buffy smiled smugly, which felt strange with fuller lips—“And my coup de grâce, a direct link to the Powers that Be and the Council.”

Angel let her go and rounded the desk. 

“I’m not telling you again, you need to leave. This is not what you want.”—Angel started scribbling on a Post-it and held it out to her—“Take this. It’s the number of another slayer. Her name is Faith and she’s living in Cleveland. She knows firsthand about this path you’re heading down. Talk to her. She can help.”

Buffy took the note and this time, truly smiled. 

“Thank you, Angel.” Buffy slid the ring off her middle finger, severing the conduit holding the glamour in place. 

“Buffy?” Angel breathed her name as he headed straight for her, just stopping short of pulling her into his arms.

“So betcha wanna know what’s with the whole Mystique thing, huh?”

“Among other things.”

 

 

Buffy launched into explaining the whys and hows. Mainly focusing on why those in her camp no longer trusted him or his team since they joined forces with Wolfram and Hart. Angel countered with how they were changing things from the inside, and how no-matter what, she could always trust him. It was true. Angel was capable of many things, both good and bad, but truly changing evil, especially an evil that had their fingers in hundreds maybe thousands of evil pies, was a tough nut to swallow. What’s more, it was impossible to change something without it changing you. And it always came at a price—usually a big one. Yet despite any reservations and hesitations, she decided to trust him. Well, mostly. It was impossible trusting him totally while his cushy office was located on the eighth level of hell. 

In taking this leap of faith with trust as her safety net, Buffy was just about to ask Angel for his help translating the book. Well, was, until a flamboyant green demon with red eyes and horns, all decked-out in a mango-colored designer suit, breezed into Angel’s office. 

“Hey, Angel-cakes. How’s our Spikey-kins doing?”

“Spikey-kins? As in Spike? As in, bleached, fashionably-challenged, obnoxiously perceptive, Spike? Is that the same Spike Barry Demonilow over there is talking about, Angel?” Buffy stepped closer to Angel, clearly pissed off. 

“Mayday, mayday! All the pressure this little spitfire is generating just caused the oxygen masks to drop from the ceiling and the stewardess to tell us to return our seats to the upright position. We’re definitely heading for a crash landing here.” The demon shifted uncomfortably, his gaze ping-ponging between the two.

Ignoring the demon, Buffy struck her classic ‘don’t bull-shit me’ pose. Her hardened stare set on Angel.

“Care to fill me in how Spike is able to do anything when last I knew he was dust at the bottom of crater-a-la-Sunnydale?” 

“It’s a funny story, really. Remember that amulet I gave you? Well, it came back to me in the mail and—” Buffy held up her hand, stopping Angel mid-sentence. 

“I’m gonna make this really simple, Angel. I don’t care why or how Spike’s back, I just know nobody told me. The way I figure, I’m owed a big-time explanation. So what’s the reason you kept something from me this time, huh? Is it that in all your infinite wisdom, you know what’s better for me than I do? Or just flat-out jealousy?”—before Angel responded, Buffy pushed past him and headed towards the door, almost plowing into Harmony standing there. Buffy then spun around to square off with Angel—“You just swore not ten minutes ago, that no-matter what I should trust you. And this is what you do? You know what? I really shouldn’t be surprised that yet again you tried keeping the truth from me, and yet again, you’re treating me like I’m some child. Well, news flash, I’m not. I’m a woman and I’m a, no, the slayer, who died three times and beat the bad guys more times than I can count. So really, the way I see it, of the two of us, you’re the one who needs to Grow. The. Hell. Up.” 

“Hey, Buffy.” Off to the side, Harmony smiled and gave a small finger-wiggle wave.

“Where’s Spike, Harmony?” 

“Okay. Now don’t dust me, but you gotta know it was only that one time and he didn’t even finish, and”—off of Buffy’s ‘if-looks-could-stake’, Harmony blurted—“He’s in the infirmary. Take the elevator up two floors, make a left, then go straight. You can’t miss it.” 

Buffy brushed past her and headed towards the elevator. 

Harmony turned back to the room, meticulous shaped brows raised. “Okay, gotta say. If that pitiful excuse for an outfit are the slayers’ new uniform, someone totally needs to call Stacy London, like, STAT. Cause denim with faux-fur trim? So last year.” 

Angel scowled at Harmony.

“Oh, my bad! Is that other slayer still in here?” Harmony stage-whispered and stepped forward, looking around.

Angel growled.

“What?” Harmony frowned, still confused.

 

 

Buffy made her way to the infirmary. With only a slight detour because Harmony clearly didn’t know her left from right without holding up an index finger and thumb to make an “L” just to make sure. 

By following the tinglies Buffy always had when Spike was near, she now stood outside a closed door. With a deep breath, she turned the handle and peered inside. 

There lay Spike—dead asleep. Then the tears started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mystique: is a character from X-Men. She can change her appearance completely. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mystique_(comics)
> 
> Eighth level of the hell refers to the book, Dante’s Inferno. “The Eight Circle of Hell is resided by the fraudulent. Dante and Virgil reach it on the back of Geryon, a flying monster with different natures, just like the fraudulent. This circle of Hell is divided into 10 Bolgias or stony ditches with bridges between them. In Bolgia 1, Dante sees panderers and seducer. In Bolgia 2 he finds flatterers. After crossing the bridge to Bolgia 3, he and Virgil see those who are guilty of simony. After crossing another bridge between the ditches to Bolgia 4, they find sorcerers and false prophets. In Bolgia 5 are housed corrupt politicians, in Bolgia 6 are hypocrites and in the remaining 4 ditches, Dante finds hypocrites (Bolgia 7), thieves (Bolgia 7), evil counselors and advisers (Bolgia 8), divisive individuals (Bolgia 9) and various falsifiers such as alchemists, perjurers and counterfeits (Bolgia 10).” http://historylists.org/art/9-circles-of-hell-dantes-inferno.html
> 
> Okay, just for clarification, I know perfectly well who Lorne is. However, Buffy doesn’t, and since the story (so far) is in Buffy’s POV, she wouldn’t call him by name. To be honest, I don’t think Buffy had ever met Lorne. (at least in canon, as far as my memory serves)
> 
> Barry Demonilow: is a playoff of Barry Manilow. For those who have been living under a rock, you can read about him here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barry_Manilow
> 
> Stacy London is one of the hosts of What Not to WearUSA. As the title states, this show took people who were dressed badly, took them and their wardrobes and gave a huge makeover. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/What_Not_to_Wear_(U.S._TV_series) 
> 
>  
> 
> Not trying to sway anyone's opinion, but so far this is my favorite chapter. Please take a mere moment to leave your thougths!


	6. Chapter 6

Buffy hadn’t moved. Hadn’t blinked. Tears teetering on her lower lashes gave everything the illusion of a dream. Yet it wasn’t. Or was it? 

Hundreds of times, in hundreds of different ways, she had dreamed, fantasized, or on that one rare occasion, there was a whole crazy montage—sans magically induced singing—about seeing him again. But nothing prepared her for the downward spiral into reality. The reality of her seeing him again meant he had been truly gone. With him being truly gone meant these past months had really happened, instead of the plaguing nightmares fading in the early mornings’ light. 

Needing to make sure this wasn’t just another form of torture her mind conjured up, she closed her eyes. After counting to three Mississippis, she reopened them. He was still there. Cue the tears. Amidst the water works, she decided instead of lingering in the doorway, she’d force herself to step inside. As the door closed quietly behind her, she realized she couldn’t go any further. 

All she could do was just stand there. Staring. It was a strange role reversal—she watching him, and he unaware. Creepy stalker-ness aside, for the first time, she understood the allure. Seeing him in quiet repose, it was as if she truly saw him for the first time. He looked so peaceful. So, dare she finally and freely admit, beautiful. Almost tragically so.

It was so weird. Casting immortality aside, he looked exactly the same. Well, the same except for the fact that his usual black-on-black-with-black-attire was traded in for a powdered blue johnny with bonus flash-everyone-my-biteable-ass opening. Of which, unfortunately, she couldn’t reap the benefits with him lying down. With a quick reminder that this was so not the reason she was hereby giving Ms. Slutty USA a big ol’ mental slap down, she approached his bed. 

_Great, more tears._

Buffy wanted so much to wake him. Wanted him to look at her with those perceptive, bluer-then-they-had-any-right-to-be eyes, give her that infuriating smirk and say her name. 

Attempting to do the right thing instead of actually shaking him awake, she went with the more casual approach—the ‘throat-clearing’ route. Nothing. Then she tried the ‘oops’ bumping into this or that approach. More nothing. Losing patience, she finally shelved the maturity and decided to take out the big guns. Whether done in anger, lust or friendship, even that one time when she was invisible, Spike always knew and responded to her touch. 

Now, she wasn’t one for groping a sleeping person, especially one who was technically dead, but after convincing herself that this was for the greater good and that she’d keep this totally G-rated, she reached out. Her hand hovered briefly before she finally allowed herself contact. 

Just as she remembered, his skin was cool and smooth, except for the new matching thin white scars circling each wrist. Her touch was gentle and tentative, and she hoped each caress conveyed the feelings she was at a loss in speaking. She watched his eyes fluttering beneath their lids. Needing them to open, she tried one more thing—saying his name.

_Spike_

 

** ** **

 

_Bloody hell_

Whatever drug Spike had been given was messing with him on a whole new level. They flooded his senses and made him believe that, of all people, Buffy was at his bedside. Crying. Over him. 

Convalescence started off brilliantly—minus the whole reason why he was laid up. His Florence Nightingale was an all-tits-and-ass succubus dressed in a porn-worthy nurse’s outfit, complete with a nursing cap, cleavage for days, and the hem of her uniform a stiff breeze away from showing Spike the promise land. She cooed and fussed over him. Even offered him a first rate sponge bath—with her tongue. Spike played the good little patient for all it was worth. Well, had until Angel, the bigtime fang blocker he was, ruined all his fun. Then, with a wink and quick plunge of the needle, she’d left.

Waiting for the drug to take hold, they talked. They reminisced. They self-flagellated. All in a broody day’s worth for his grandsire. Then the unexpected happened. Far beyond the camaraderie of death and destruction, he felt they shared a deeper connection. One forged from a mutual self-realization that they, too, were innocents—once upon a time. Then, just like the beginning of so many bedtime stories, these four words were the last thing Spike remembered before drifting off.

 

Spike stood on the beach. Every brilliant sight and sound of life flooded his senses—the saltiness of the sea, the steady rhythm of the waves beating against the shore, and off in the distance, the first rays of the sun as they crested over the horizon. Yet he wasn’t afraid. In fact, he welcomed its touch. At first, it was tentative. Gentle sweeps of warmth and tenderness that nearly brought him to tears. He felt loved, treasured. He never wanted to leave, yet a soft, sweet breeze called to him. A sound he was never able to deny.

_Spike_

 

** ** **

 

Following the voice, Spike forced open his eyes. His lids fluttered like a newly emerging butterfly drying its fragile wings. He tried to focus but his eyes wouldn’t cooperate. When his sight finally cleared, it wasn’t anything he’d ever expected. Or deserved.

Buffy was at his bedside. Crying. Over him.

He tried to speak, but his tongue had joined his eyes in going completely rogue. Plus, since reaching out with his still numb, newly reattached feelers was out, he went with his only option: staring. For several minutes, they were locked in this weird contest. Neither blinked nor looked away. Then, he closed his eyes briefly, and following a few throat clearings, his tongue felt less like a useless fleshy lump and cooperated. Though he had a million things he wanted to say, he figured simple and straight to the point was the best way to go. For now.

“Hello, Buffy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite the cliffie, please take but a moment to let me know your thoughts. Remember, a few words go a long, long way!!


	7. Chapter 7

The slap was expected. The kiss was not. 

Both were fueled by passion, yet neither was slayer driven. This was purely a woman scorned at the helm. Brief as each were, her kiss marked him far deeper than the slap ever could. But before he could react, she’d pulled away and assumed ‘battle-ready’ position.

“So you’re really back, huh? Care to enlighten me, Spike, why is it that I had to hear this from some _Saturday Night Fever_ extra, instead of, I don’t know, maybe, um, you?” Buffy paced, only stopping and squaring off on the last word.

“Well, you see, funny story that—”

Just as she had with Angel, Buffy held up her hand, stopping Spike mid-sentence.

“If you give me some load of crap about keeping me in the dark for my own benefit, I swear, what happens next isn’t going to be pretty. As in, no amulet, ring or any other gaudy accessory will bring you back, not pretty. _Capisce_?” Buffy eyed Spike, waiting for a response.

Spike nodded and, with his gaze firmly locked with hers, pushed forward.

“At first, stayed because I had to. Then stayed because I needed to.”

That seemed to immediately take the wind out of her battleship sails. Her features softened and she stepped closer.

“You needed to stay away. Because of me?”

Spike watched her outer armor cracking, further exposing the hurt woman inside. Yet he pressed on; he wouldn’t keep the truth from her. 

“Not goin’ to lie, luv. I thought it’d be best for me to stay away. No way topping my last exit and my grand sacrifice being all for naught.”—Spike watched the fire set ablaze again in her eyes and hurried to clarify —“But that was at first. Gut response and reasoning. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized something else entirely. I realized the reason I needed to stay away was because of me. All my time on God’s green Earth, someone’s been pulling my strings—Victorian society, my sires, the chip, the First, that bloody amulet. Now, for the first time, I’m my own man more or less, and it was ‘bout time I sussed out my place and the reason I’m still here. After over a century, finally, ‘I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.’”

It was surprising how easily the truth flowed. Not that he was normally a liar—that wasn’t really his style. Actually, what he couldn’t do as a human but made damn sure he had as a vamp was using words as weapons. They were, by far, sharper and plunged far deeper than his fangs ever could. But this had nothing to do about hurting. This was all about healing. For them both.

By the time Spike was done, Buffy was sitting on the edge of the bed. All her anger had melted away, leaving behind an expression he’d only witnessed on far too few cherished occasions—empathy.

“See, now, I never thought about that. When I found out you were here, I was all ‘I gotta find Spike.’ I never thought about the ‘Does Spike wanna be found’ part of the scenario. And in Buffy’s World, population one, instead of respecting your decision not letting me know you were back, I go all _Fatal Attraction_ and hunt you down. Typical, I always miss the subtle clues, even when they’re not, you know, subtle. Look, I’m gonna go and you don’t have to worry about me bothering you again. I hope you have a good life, Spike. Well, unlife…” Buffy stood and headed towards the door.

Spike watched her walk away, unsure how the hell everything went tits over arse. Unable to physically bring her back, he did the next best thing. Hoping to hell it worked.

“Wait!”

She turned, fresh tears tracking down her cheeks. He felt like such a bastard.

“Buffy, please come back. Sit.” Since his hands were still useless, he eyed the spot on the bed she’d just vacated. Just as he hoped, she sat back down.

“Like I said, I wasn’t planning on shoe-horning myself back into your life. But know this, when I popped out of that amulet, in Angel’s office no less, the first thought I had…well, besides the fact that coming back was a bloody bitch…was you. Only you. It’s true, all that has happened from then till now really put things into perspective. And yeah, there are things in my unlife needin’ major figurin’, but my feelings for you were never one of them.”

Buffy smiled softly and gently cupped his cheek. Their gazes locked and held for several moments, until Buffy dropped her hand and was the first to look away.

“Well, I guess you’ve been pretty busy, huh?” Buffy toyed with the edge of his blanket.

“Understatement of the year, luv.”

Spike launched into an hour long tale, starting with materializing from the amulet and ending with Dana playing some twisted form of _Operation_ , sans the buzzing and flashing red nose. Buffy listened, engrossed, barely interrupting except for a few “No ways,” raising that once with a “You gotta be kidding me!” Yet nothing had prepared him for the only question she actually asked on the matter.

“Where does Harmony fit in all of this?” Buffy struck her go-to ‘no nonsense’ pose. Which, truth-be-told, was far more intimidating this up-close-and-personal.

“So of me being _Casper_ the unfriendly ghost, my almost one-way trip to hell courtesy of the bloody Reaper, me finally being all solid again and then stopping those leeches from treating Angel like some vamp-sized Capri Sun, of all of this, the only question you have is about _Harm_?”—going off of her unchanged expression, Spike shifted uneasily—“Well, I guess I sorta left out the part when that big box of flashy made me solid again, I tried, well, not exactly tried, more as in, well, it was only the once and I didn’t finish…”

Buffy held up her hand, stopping him from going further. “Okay, not another word. You’re so not finishing this time either, buddy.”

“Jealous?” With a raised scarred brow, Spike’s voice danced between teasing and seductive. 

“Hardly.” Buffy’s scoff sounded more indignant than the intended indifference.

Spike leaned forward to capture her gaze. Holding it, he vowed, “Luv, there’ll never be anyone else for me besides you.”

“Yeah, well, since we weren’t really together, I’ll forgive you. This time only. Next time, it’s Dustpan City for you, pal.”—he watched her relax, the playfulness he loved returning—“So I’m guessing, with all things considered, even a hundred and thirty year old vamp can have an identity crisis, huh?”

“Oi! ‘m only a hundred and twenty-four, you vicious bint. And don’t you try to deny it. Century year old or not, we both know ‘m a devilishly handsome bloke.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you are.”--Buffy’s eyes widened and she rose from the bed--“Okay, so, on that note, I really should be going.”

“Buffy?” Spike started to panic. He didn’t want her leaving. If he had his say in the matter, her leaving would be never.

“No, I’m not leaving. Well, yeah, I’m leaving this room, but not LA. Not right now anyway. It’s just…I sorta need a time out to refuel. I’ve been running on pure adrenaline for the last seventy-two hours and I’m ‘bout ready to crash.” Her words ended with a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Rest, luv. Take all the time you need, ‘m not goin’ anywhere.”

With a soft smile, Buffy headed towards the door. Her hand stayed on the handle before she turned and returned to the bed.

“I really missed you.” With a soft chaste kiss to his lips, she left.

Never an easy feat, Spike was rendered speechless. Granted, the beginning of their conversation was rocky, but by the end it was simply amazing. Just having her smiling at him, laughing with him, having Buffy just being Buffy was far more than he’d ever deserved. And hell, the greedy bastard he was wanted more. Wanted it all.

It wasn’t till a few moments had passed he realized he’d gained back dexterity and full feeling in his hands, as his fingers were absently brushing against his lips, trying to recapture her kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saturday Night Fever is a 1977 classic starring John Travolta and songs from the Bee Gees. Go here to learn more: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saturday_Night_Fever
> 
>  
> 
> Capisce: means “got it” or “I understand” in Italian. Since Buffy was in Italy, this worked, plus I’m a tried and true Italian princess, so…
> 
> “I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul” are the last two lines of my favorite poem, “Invictus,” written by William Ernest Henley. In Latin, “invictus” means “unconquered.” It is so powerful and gut-wrenching, not only the poem, but the way it came about. If you’ve never read it, find it here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Invictus
> 
>  
> 
> Fatal Attraction is a 1987 psychological thriller starring Glenn Close and Michael Douglas. It was pretty jaw-dropping, especially for a fourteen year old who snuck behind her parents’ back to watch it on HBO! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatal_Attraction
> 
>  
> 
> Operation is a childhood game which I loved. (I think I liked the buzzing sound more than anything) Go here if you’ve never heard of the game: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_(game)
> 
>  
> 
> Casper the unfriendly ghost: is a playoff of Casper the friendly ghost. If you don’t know who he is, look here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Casper_the_Friendly_Ghost
> 
>  
> 
> Please take a mere moment to let me know your thoughts.


	8. Chapter 8

Two days. Two days and he’d seen neither supple hide nor golden hair of Buffy. Yeah, he told her to take all the time she needed and he’d meant it, truly he had, but he wasn’t prepared for her actually taking all the time she needed. 

He was going out of his bleedin’ mind.

With all his head tilting and ears cocking up, every little sound had him looking like some dog who had been left alone by his master for far too long. No doubt there’d be some Pavlovian slavering and excited arse wagging next. 

_Pathetic_

Though their recent time together was far different than any other, he knew he shouldn’t be holding his proverbial breath over a couple of chaste kisses and a single solitary hour without bloodshed and threats. This was hardly the makings of an endless love and devotion. He should just be grateful she hadn’t staked his arse for keeping his return from her. Regardless if their conversation would’ve gone any further than a simple, “Hello cutie.” 

_Who’s he fooling? Nothing was ever simple between them._

Head tilt. Ears cocked. 

Inwardly cursing himself again for being an all-around wanker, especially since Buffy hadn’t a clue where he was staying, he headed to the fridge. Eying the meager contents, he grumbled a few choice words about the bottles of piss poor swill impersonating a beer before grabbing one, flopping down on the couch and staring at a blank telly screen. 

This lasted all of about two minutes.

Draining the bottle, he went for his leather. He couldn’t just sit there. He needed to do something. First he considered a spot of violence to take the edge off. That was until it took him two attempts to grab his keys. A glaring reminder he was still on the mend. 

Bar it is.

Or was. Until there was a knock at the door and the revelation of who stood on the other side—Buffy.

Almost instantly, they began another round of a bizarre staring contest. Neither looking away until Spike blinked.

“I’m winning, two to one.” Buffy gave him a teasing smile. 

For the second time in so many days, Spike was speechless. Not only was Buffy here, but she’d actually made a point of seeking him out. This wasn’t an accidental bumping into, or even what happened the other day, a matter of her seeking him out to more or less tear him a new one. She was here. To see him. And for the unlife of him, he couldn’t make it past that notion to actually make sense of what she was saying. 

“Pardon?” Spike absently wiped the corner of his mouth, making sure he was drool-free.

“Our staring contests. You won the first round. Then I won and now, I won again. So it’s Buffy two, Spike one.” 

Going by the tiny furrow between her brows growing deeper by the moment, this one-side conversation was going nowhere fast. Not to mention, he was still staring at her like a dim-witted simpleton to boot. 

_Bloody brilliant_

“O-kay. I guess I caught you at a bad time. I’ll just be going. Oh…”—Buffy held up a brown paper bag in each hand—“you know, with the whole hospital stay and you being a bachelor and all. Thought you’d be hungry, so, um, here.” 

Buffy held out each bag to him. The spicy mélange of blood, grease and tabasco, finally snapped him out of his stupor.

“Thanks.” Spike stepped aside and swept out his arm. “Sorry, come in.” 

Buffy passed over the threshold and Spike quietly closed the door. 

“Huh, I guess invites work on slayers too. Not that I ever waited for one before. You know, with the whole not knocking and just barging in, part of our relationship.” 

Buffy stood in the center of the room, clearly waiting for Spike’s lead. 

Still needing time to wrap his head around her being there, Spike headed to the kitchenette. He opened the fridge and leaned in, frowning at the nearly empty shelves. 

“Um, don’t have much in the way of, well, anything. Either a half-drained bag of pig’s blood or what you Americans call beer. Pick your poison.” Even with having to raise his voice, Spike tried to sound calm and was doing a pretty good job of it too, until he felt her approaching. 

“No worries. Brought my own.” 

He heard her set down the bags on the kitchen table, then move to the cupboards and drawers. He knew she’d find nothing but mouse droppings and a mini creepy-crawlies cemetery. Clearly, he was right. When after five failed attempts, she returned to the table and with the distinctive crinkling of cellophane, she settled on what the take away place had provided.

“You coming out anytime soon, Spike? The food’s getting cold and it’s kinda hard to carry on a conversation with your butt.” 

Spike didn’t realize how close she was until she touched his shoulder, which caused him to jump and hit the back of his head on the underside of the cold-store door. 

_So much for vamp reflexes and heightened senses_

“Spike!”

Alarmed, Buffy rushed to his side, then led Spike over to the couch and helped him sit. With a quick, “be right back” she dashed into the kitchenette, where he heard her rummaging through the cold-store. In a flash she was back, placing and holding a compress on his rapidly forming goose-egg. 

“So I’m guessing with you playing ostrich and nearly knocking yourself out while trying to get away from me, you didn’t exactly expect me to come here. If you want me to leave, you just have to say…”

“No!” Spike stood and wobbled a bit. The last time he’d felt like this was during the first days of trying to feed after being strapped with the chip. 

Buffy dropped the compress and instinctually wrapped one arm around his back, placing her free hand on his stomach to steady him. She helped him sit back down. Picking up and handing him the compress, she went to the other side of the couch and sat. 

When he caught sight of her form-fitting, nearly-see-through, silky camisole, he nearly forgotten all about the circling birdies and stars. Evidently, she’d used her shirt for a makeshift compress. That or he’d knocked himself good and proper, and he was imagining things. If that was the case, he was lovin’ the hallucination. 

“Okay, fine, you want me here. So spill. What’s with the spaz routine, Spike?”

“Just surprised is all. Truth be told, was figurin’ me seeing you again meant heading to Wolfram and Hart and waiting. And if that didn’t work…well, don’t rightly know. Hadn’t exactly planned that far. Though it was a long shot, was hoping you’d be there. But now here you are, and it’s throwing me for a bloody loop. Not complaining mind you.” Spike placed the compress on his injury. The two sat in silence for several moments, before he spoke again. “So how’d you find me, exactly?”

“Lorne? Is that his name?” On Spike’s nod, she continued. “Even after he witnessed everything going down between me and Angel, he was surprisingly helpful. Well, helpful in the way of asking me to sing for him. Which, okay, super strange. But after living in Sunnydale, this wasn’t exactly the weirdest thing I’ve done, so I sang. One line in, he stopped me, rushed me outside and pretty much threw me in a cab. I’m thinking he wanted me outta there before I made his ears bleed.” Buffy dropped her gaze, focusing on a worn patch of cushion.

“He’s an Empath demon. The singing gives him a look-see at auras and futures. Pretty neat trick. Well, it is, until you get some blighter who can’t carry a tune even in a bucket.” Buffy’s gaze lifted and her eyes narrowed. “Not that that’s you, luv. A brilliant songstress you are.”

“Yeah, right. Laying it on pretty thick, dontcha think? No worries, I’ll just chalk up the misplaced ass kissage to a possible concussion talking.” Buffy looked around. “So this is where you hang your hat, well, coat? It’s, um…”

“A bloody dump, is what it is. Can’t complain too much. M’ not footin’ the bill or having to stomach watching grand pappy and the other fools keeping their devil’s bargain with Wolfram and Hart.”

“Yeah, Wolfram and Hart's why I went all Secret Squirrel. Well, them and Angel. Giles didn’t want me to come here. But I needed to see Evil Inc. up close-and-personal and even more so, find out where Angel’s alliances stood. But I couldn’t exactly do that while being littl’ ol’ me, so I had the Coven whip me up a glamour. Short stint as a brunette Southern belle later, I can report that Angel didn’t try swaying me, not me, to the dark side. Actually, he’d tried putting me on the right path, which was of the good. But then things went south. Way south. Can you believe that after all this time and everything that’s happened, he still thinks he can run my life, and that he knows what’s best for me?”

“No surprise, there. No matter, Angel or Angelus, he always believed he’s the boss of everyone. Nothin’s stopping that juggernaut of an ego he’s got, and nothin’ ever will. Especially now that the Senior Partners gave him the golden ticket to the chocolate factory.” 

“Well, he’d better watch out or he’ll end up going down the chute with the other bad eggs.” 

“No doubt. But if he’s lucky, the Umpa Lumpas will sing his dirge.” Spike lowered the compress and gingerly touched the injured spot, wincing slightly on contact.

“Can I see?”

Spike bowed his head and Buffy scooted closer to get a look, their knees now touching. He tensed, and apparently she noticed.

“When did it start being this awkward between us?” 

Spike looked up and he heard her heartbeat quickening. He chalked it up to the unresolved uneasiness between them.

“Don’t rightly know.”

“Well, not counting me not knowing that you were back… and don’t think for one minute that I don’t still owe you an ass kicking for that…I have a theory.” 

“Do tell.”

“We hadn’t had the chance to figure out how we exactly fit in each other’s lives, and what to expect from the other. Hence, the weirdness.”

Spike tilted his head, studying her and waiting for her to continue. Buffy pressed on.

“Okay, so first we were just a vampire and slayer. I tried to stake you. You tried to kill me. And it worked. Then you got the chip and things kinda changed, but we still had this mutual mistrust and loathing going on. And that worked too. I mean, it got a little weird there with your liking me and me still hating you, and let’s not to forget the whole chaining me up stunt. Yet all in all, we still had an understanding. Then I died and came back, and you were there for me. But it changed to this whole complicated and messy boy, girl thing. That so didn’t work. For either of us.”

On Spike’s raised brow, Buffy clarified, “not working as in unhealthy and toxic, not as in you know Not. Working. Then you left and got a soul while I got my head on straight. When you came back, you were crazy and then adding to that, the First, a steady stream of potentials, nearly indestructible ubervamps and how everyday-felt-like-an-endless Tuesday to the whole unmixy mix, we never had the time to really figure out what we were to each other. I mean, I’d like to think during those last weeks we trusted one another and we were friends.” 

“So you want to be friends?” Spike tried to keep the slight disappointment from his voice. Not that friends were bad per se; he just wanted this and then some. Wanted it all. 

“Yeah. No. I mean, yes, friends, but more importantly, I want us to be Buffy and Spike.”

“Not really sure ‘m following you, luv.”

“Maybe this will explain better.” 

Buffy leaned forward and kissed Spike. It took a moment before he responded in kind. Soft and insistent, but never hurried, their kisses were a gentle exploration of one another after all this time. After several blissful moments, Buffy was the first to pull away. 

She was a sight to see: cheeks flushed, chest heaving and pupils blown. 

_Simply glorious_

“Whoa, that was, yeah, so do you get, um, what I’m trying say now?”

Spike pulled Buffy into his arms; their lips mere inches apart.

“No. Tell me again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Secret Squirrel is a 1966 cartoon. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Secret_Squirrel
> 
> Golden ticket, chocolate factory, bad egg chute, Umpa Lumpas: all these references are from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory. I’m referring to the 1971 classic with Gene Wilder, not the ultra-creepy Tim Burton version. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Willy_Wonka_%26_the_Chocolate_Factory 
> 
> Please take a moment to let me know your thoughts! Thank you.


	9. Chapter 9

 

Spike broke away with a gasp, and Buffy took the opportunity to place teasing nips and open mouth kisses to the tender curve of his throat.   His head lolled back, surrendering to her.  With her warm, eager hands roaming over the planes of his chest and the full expanse of his back, coupled with the heady scent of her arousal and racing pulse buzzing in his ears, intensified the hunger of both man and demon. 

The man wanted to savor her.  The demon wanted to possess her.  Both wanted every part of her and neither was accepting anything less. 

“Luv?”  

His voice sounded strained and distant even to his own ears.  Spike was torn between speaking and once and for all lifting this heavy burden of doubt weighing on him, or yet again, remaining silent and relishing the moment. 

It was neverending—his mind, body and soul struggling against one another in matters of the heart.     

Yet this needed to be done.  No more hiding behind the fear of rejection and obscurity.  Decision made, Spike spoke louder in order to get her attention.

“Buffy.” 

This time it worked.  She stopped, leaving him feeling instantly bereft.  He felt her shifting, untangling herself from him and moving back to the couch.  It pained him to see her once bright, shining eyes clouding over with uncertainty.   

“Spike?”

The way she said his name, the way she looked at him, so open and exposed, gave him the briefest glimpse at a side of her she’d rarely shown to anyone—vulnerability.  A vulnerability sustained by a steady soul-crushing diet of a deeply ingrained fear of someone leaving and breaking her heart, yet again. 

Long before the soul, he vowed he’d do anything and everything in his power to ease her heartaches of the past.  Without question, doubt or hesitation, he’d go to hell and back to give her this one small moment of peace in an otherwise short, brutal existence.  He’d endure every perdition or nightmare created by man, god or beasts, all but save one—the hell of uncertainty and self-paltriness once reigning over his head and heart.  Not again.  Never again.        

“Buffy, we can’t do this.”

Spike noticed her tensing, sitting taller and straighter.    Knowing her like he did, she was physically bracing herself for the crushing final verbal blow she thought would follow.  Her response was either fight or flight.  Only time would tell for sure which one she’d choose.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, that I could show up out of the blue and shoe-horn myself back into your life.  And what?  Act like everything that happened before hadn’t, and a greasy bag of blood and wings will make everything better?  Yeah, just crown me now, Miss Delusional USA 2004.  I’m sorry, I’m…I’m just gonna go.”

_So, flight it was_

Buffy tried to stand, but Spike’s hands on her upper arms stayed her.  “Now hold up.  Can you just give me a minute to explain ‘fore you blow on out of here?” 

Buffy nodded her consent, but her muscles remained tense under her skin, coiled and at the ready to flee at any moment.  He knew his explanation had to be quick and straight to the point, one false move would trigger her flight and then trying to stop her from leaving would be like fettering a whirlwind. 

_Bloody impossible_

“Buffy, when I say we can’t do this, it’s not about the past.  It’s not about all the misdeeds we’ve done to one another.  Those are times best left alone.  And if  ‘ve learned anything in a century plus of unliving, especially in these last two years, the past is best left where it’s supposed to be.  Behind you.  The only thing we can do now is learn from it, move on and not repeat the same mistakes.”

“So…so you’re saying it’s a mistake for us to be together?” 

This was not a time to mince words.  No more misunderstandings or miscommunications.  He needed for her to fully understand.  Then from there, whatever choice she made was with full knowledge of where he stood. 

“No, not a mistake.  If this is for real, Buffy, it would never be a mistake.”  Needing more contact to go on, Spike slid closer until their knees touched.  “You can’t imagine how many times I’d fantasized you tellin’ me that we should be together.  For years.  Nearly every bloody day.  There were even some days, after I had a few, five or six pints, my imagination ran wild.  You.  Me.  A cozy little crypt for two.  With unlimited top-shelf Jack and smokes, and Manchester United on the telly beating the snot out of Liverpool for the League Cup… now that was my idea of nirvana.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and murmured, “Typical guy.”

Spike gave a fleeting smirk, then pressed on, “In those few short months we were together, no matter how small of a taste you allowed me to have, I believed that was the closest to heaven I’d ever get.  Or deserved.  But that was then.  And this is now.”  Spike loosened his grip on her arms, the pads of his thumbs tenderly tracing small circles on her skin. 

“Buffy, I will always be here for you, please know this.  But I can’t give you what you’re looking for.  Not if you’re not willing to give me what I want— _all_ of you.  Not just your body.  Not just small bits here and there or shadows of who you allow me to have or see.  I want your mind.  Your heart.  Your trust.  I want to experience with you the highest of the high and the lowest of the low.  See the best and worst of you.  I want it all.   But I won’t be your dirty littl’ secret and ‘m not accepting a meager crumb.  Not again.  Not anymore.  _I_ deserve more.”

Spike watched her, trying to gauge her thoughts and not able to get a read.  The next few moments of pregnant silence were maddening.  It wasn’t until he saw her eyes welling with tears and he felt her body relaxing, he released the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“You deserve so much more, Spike.  I know you said the past is the past.  But I need to say this.”  Spike nodded and she pressed on. “When you were gone, I had time to think.  _Lots_ and _lots_ of time to think, if I had the chance, what I’d’ve done differently.  There were so many things.  But I can’t change what happened and I can’t keep beating myself up over it all.  And right now, I don’t have everything figured out yet, because, hello?  Big surprise.  You’re back.”  Buffy gave a slight smile.  “Well, actually, it shouldn’t be a big surprise you’re back.  You’ve always been there, haven’t you?  Like a tarnished, bad penny, you keep turning up.  Even when I hated you.   Even when I hurt you and others hurt you because of me, even when everyone else would’ve just given up—you never left.  And believe me.  I gave you tons of reasons to leave and reasons to betray me.  But you kept your promises to protect the ones I love and keep them safe.  Even when I was gone.”  Spike watched her lashes fluttering and smelt the tears she was fighting. 

“For a really long time, I hated you for that.  Hated that you were always _there_.  I thought there was something wrong with you because why could a vampire, a soulless thing, be there when others with a soul wasn’t.  And then that got me thinking there was something wrong with _me_ because I couldn’t get rid of you.  I couldn’t understand, I didn’t want to understand, why they were gone and you stayed.  And the worst part?   When all the nose punches and insults couldn’t keep you away, I used another way, a more brutal way, to try and get you to leave.  I twisted your love, said it was wrong and wasn’t real because you didn’t have a soul.  I told you I could never love or trust you without one.  But the truth is, you love far deeper than anyone I’ve ever known.  And I used that love against you because it was the only weapon I had left.” 

Spike watched Buffy close her eyes, and take a few steadying breaths before she opened them again to meet his gaze.

“Even though I told you I couldn’t trust you, there was a small part of me, deep down that knew I still did.  With my mother, with Dawn…I never wanted to admit it to myself, and I especially wasn’t admitting it to you.  Trusting means you let someone get close.   Close enough that when they hurt you, it cuts so deep and leaves you in pieces.  And I couldn’t let you have that type of power.  You already had so much over me.  You knew me better than anyone.  You knew me better than I knew myself.”  Buffy cupped Spike’s face tenderly. 

“But I’m not afraid, not anymore.  I trust you, Spike.  And if you still want me, want us, I’m ready.  And this is not a half way thing.  I want it all, the whole shebang—the blood breath, the smoking, the obnoxious goading and gloating, the…” The rest of her list was cut off by Spike’s lips on hers, only to break away when he scooped her off the couch and cradled her close to his chest, her arm instinctually looping around his neck.           

“So I take that as a yes?”  Spike answered her with another scorching kiss, lasting until Buffy pulled away giggling. “Okay, okay!  It’s yes.”  Spike went to swoop in for another kiss, but Buffy’s finger to his lips stopped him.  “Just so you know, you’re asking for it, buster.  Like, you’ll be in it big time—the monthly splurges of chic flicks and all-you-can-eat chocolate-thons, dealing with my totally obscene love of cheese, and my overall aversion to any type of housework and I leave my stakes lying around all willy-nilly.  But if you think you can handle it…” 

Spike pushed past her finger and silenced her again with a kiss.   Within a few strides, they were in his bedroom.  He gently set her down to stand at the foot of his twin bed.  He tilted her face upwards and held her gaze.

“I can handle everything you can dish out, and then some, sweetheart.  You wouldn’t be Buffy without all of those little quirks and nuances.  And I’m quite fond of Buffy—the Slayer.  The Woman.  My lover.  And speaking of which…”  His last few words were a husky murmur against her ear, and then he backed away.  With his eyes remaining fixed on her the entire time, he sat down on the bed and backed up until he was leaning against the wall behind the head of the bed.

“Lose the shirt.”  His voice was deep and seductive, with a hint of lustful demand.  When she reached for the hem without hesitation, and her renewed arousal hit the air; he knew she wanted him just as much. 

“Now the pants.”  

Resembling a __paşa__ openly admiring his concubine, his eyes roamed over her while a humming from deep in his throat voiced his approval.  Buffy never broke away from his gaze.  He watched the simmering fire grow in her eyes, matching his in intensity and longing.  

“Come here, luv.” 

Spike held out his hand, which she immediately took and joined him on the bed.  Their mouths met and tenderness soon gave way to passion, only to break apart with her removing his shirt and pulling Spike down on top of her. 

“So long…too bloody long.”   

Buffy murmured her agreement as Spike settled between her splayed thighs.  His mouth teased and tasted, mapping the slope of her neck.  Then lowering still, he nipped her breasts through the silkiness of her bra.  Buffy wrapped her legs around his waist and skillfully rolled them.  Perched astride his lap, she took control.  Opening the front clasp of her bra, she slowly bared herself to him.  Never breaking eye contact, Spike explored her body.  Yet avoided touching her breasts, leaving her craving more. 

“Spike…”

Buffy cried out when he suddenly sat up, pressing himself into where she wanted him the most and drawing her nipple into his mouth to suckle.  Buffy fisted her hands in his hair, holding him to task as she rocked against him, seeking friction.  Even though a layer of denim and silk was between them, she was still burning him with her heat.    

The rest of their clothes were slowly shed, all the while they tasted and explored one another.  Unlike all the other times, this was more than a connection in the physical sense.  This wasn’t about who held the power or control, or merely scratching an itch.  This was a connection building from trust and dared he believe, love.  This was a connection that in all his years, he’d never truly experienced.  The mere thought brought him to tears.

Spike felt her stilling, her hands leaving his body to cup his face.  She placed scattered tender kisses to his cheeks, capturing his tears and his sorrow. 

“I know, Spike.  I feel the same.” 

He rested his forehead against hers, their gazes locked.  On the heels of her words, he shifted and slid home.  _Home._   There wasn’t another word to best describe this all-encompassing connection.  After all this time of searching and longing, he was finally home. 

Their climaxes built slowly.  Steadily.  When the tide of her climax finally hit, she cried out and he was swept away in the wake.  With a parting kiss, he settled beside her and pulled her in close, trailing his fingers lightly over her arm wrapped around his middle.  Right now there wasn’t a need for words.  Tonight, his doubts were put to rest.  Not only from what she had said, but from what she hadn’t spoken at all.      

Buffy trusted him.

And for now, that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a brief moment to give me your thoughts. Feed the muse!!!


	10. Chapter 10

Buffy struggled against her chains.  Her heart pounded in time with the Shadow Men’s primitive rhythm.  A seemingly ordinary box was opened and placed on the floor.  It was nothing special except for what was inside.  What they expected to be inside her. 

Sentient tendrils of black smoke pulsated and licked at the air.  Looming above her, it searched for her weaknesses then struck.  Forcing its way inside, it writhed and twisted up her nose and in her ears.  With every ounce of strength, she fought back—screaming.   Releasing hold, it retreated to the ceiling before returning.  Coiling and snaking around her in a macabre dance.  

Wide-eyed she watched it expand and take shape of the Master.  His fruit-punch stained mouth twisted in a sneer.  Then it shifted, changed.  She shivered under Angelus’ demonic gaze roaming over her in a lewd perusal.  Then it shifted again.  Changing into what she dreaded far more.   From beneath a ridged brow, piercing blues bore into her very soul.

_“Slayer.”_

             

Buffy jolted and sat straight up, panting.  Fisting the bedding, she tried to stop from shaking. 

“Nightmare, sweetheart?”  Groggy, Spike sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes.

“Yeah, I hate that one.” 

“Come ‘ere.” 

Spike opened his arms and Buffy slid into his embrace, nuzzling and molding into his side.  She held onto him tightly.  Needing to hold onto this, onto him.  He became her anchor as she weathered the maelstrom of emotions swelling and storming inside her.  And when the tears broke free, she burrowed her face deeper into his chest and held on even tighter than before. 

Buffy welcomed the solidness of his arms around her.  Welcomed the coolness of his skin under her cheek, the feeling of him steadily stroking her hair and the unneeded rise and fall of his chest.  When the tears finally subsided, she absently wiped away the wetness left behind.  The whole time he hadn’t spoken a word, yet he made her feel safe and feel as nothing beyond this very moment existed or mattered.

_Please, just a little longer_

Buffy wasn’t ready to let go.  She feared this was another form of torture her mind had concocted.  Instead of her being in his arms, he was gone and she was in Rome with only a handful of half-way decent memories and far more regrets to keep her company.  She just needed a while longer, and then she’d have the strength—strength to let him go.   

“Care to tell me what brought this on?”  She felt his lips brushing against the crown of her head.

“It’s just…this is real, isn’t it?”

Buffy dreaded asking this and even more so, dreaded hearing the answer.  Yet if this was all a slight of mind and he was to disappear, she knew that this time together, for however brief, would get her through. 

_At least for a little while_

Spike gently shifted her until their gazes were level.  He cupped her face and with the tender sweeps of his thumbs, dried her remaining tears.    

“Yes, this is real.” 

He drew her in for a kiss.  The barest touching of their lips held so much tenderness, but soon she needed more.  She threw her arms around his neck, straddled his hips and deepened the kiss.  When air became an issue, she pulled away and began scattering kisses over his face, all the while whispering, “You’re real” following each one.  She must’ve landed a dozen or so kisses before he spoke up. 

“Not that I don’t love all this attention, luv, but care to fill a fella in to what’s goin’ on?” 

Buffy gave a final peck to the tip of his nose and slid back, just enough to look him in the eye but not too far to loose contact.

“The short version?  Totally freaky nightmares and an unreadable book.  The long? Well, it all started about seven months ago with a hero and his sacrifice that saved the world…”

Buffy meant every word.  He was a hero.  He was _her_ hero.  Yet despite how over the years she’d bared witness to his usual cock and swagger, it was when it mattered, truly matter, Spike was oddly humble.  This was one of those times.

“Nah.  Just showed up with the shiny bobble ‘round my neck that was all.  No hero here but you, Slayer.”   

And just like that, he brushed off her claim.  Buffy wanted to tell him he was wrong.  Tell him he’d done far more than that, but she knew he wouldn’t listen.  So she moved on, focusing on the others lost in the battle: several potentials turned slayers, including Amanda, and how they lost Anya.  They each remembered the fallen in silence for several moments, then Spike asked what happened next. 

Buffy explained that the bus hadn’t stopped until they reached Angel’s.  And how the next week they held up there, taking time for healing and figuring out what they’d do next, before the group slowly headed off in different directions.  Principal Woods and Faith set their sights on another Hellmouth in Cleveland.  Some slayers returned home to wait for their Watchers, while the rest headed to England.  From there, some stayed with Giles to rebuild the Watcher’s Council and for training, while she and Dawn relocated to Rome and the remaining Scoobies struck out on their own searching the globe for newly called slayers. 

She and Spike talked for what felt like hours, only stopping for bathroom and smoke breaks, answering the door for take-out delivery, and lots and lots of smooching.  It felt like the most normal thing in the world for the two of them sitting there sharing, laughing, teasing, kissing, just _being_. 

With the complications of their relationship finally simplified, there was no need to define themselves.  Not as a slayer and a vampire.  Not as enemies with a truce or frenemies with benefits.  Not even as a man and a woman.  They were simply Buffy and Spike.  And it was, _amazing_.  

It was sometime later as she found comfort in his arms, she told him about the nightmares.  It was cathartic holding nothing back.  Sharing with him every minute detail.  Sharing with him how she felt in the midst of each nightmare and how she felt when she woke.  And when the tears started again, he held her close.  All the while assuring her he’d do everything in his power to help her figure this all out. 

“Thanks, you can’t know how much that means.”  Buffy pressed a kiss to his chest and slid from his arms.  “And since you offered, there is something that needs figuring out.” 

“Wait a bleedin’ sec.  You never said we had to leave this bed for this _figuring_.  Forget it.  I don’t wanna.”  Spike pouted and Buffy was so tempted to give in, but she remained focused and busied herself by searching through the discarded clothes on the floor.

“Too late,” Buffy sing songed while pulling on Spike’s shirt.  “You said you’d help.  Everything in your power, kinda help.  Now get up, lazy bones.”

He still hadn’t moved.  She knew it’d take a little more _persuasion_ getting Spike out of bed.  And this persuasion came in the form of how his black tee hung just below the cusp of her ass and when she bent over _just so_ while slowly slipping on her panties…    

With a coquettish smile, she looked over her shoulder taking in Spike eying her like the predator he was.  His intense, demanding stare made her body hum, which was then upped to a full-out quivering when Spike’s purred, “I _am_ up.” and gestured to the prominent tenting in the thin bed sheet draped across his lap. 

It took all her will power to not say, “To hell with it” and joining him back in bed.  But before she had a chance to change her mind, Buffy threw Spike his jeans and headed into the living room.  After a few minutes and a few choice curse words on his part, Spike finally joined her on the couch.  Thankfully, for her raging libido and in the hopes of getting any work done, he was partially dressed.

It didn’t take her long to tell him what she knew about the book, since it was pretty much a big ol’ helping of nada with a side of bupkis.  Finally at the show-and-tell portion of the conversation, Buffy pulled the book out from her courier’s bag and handed it to Spike. 

“So this is it, then?”

“Yeah, not much to look at, but this bad boy ain’t giving up its secrets for nothin’.  Not even Giles or a gaggle of wicked Wiccas could translate so much as a single letter, symbol, or whatever those squiggles are.” 

Spike carefully turned the page.  “Hmm…interesting.”

Buffy moved closer to him on the couch, her eyes wide and hopeful.  “Hmm, interesting, good?  Or hmm, interesting, bad?  Wait, you know what it says?  Oh boy, Giles is gonna be sooooo jealous.”

“Well, actually, neither good nor bad.  Or maybe it’s both.  Don’t know either way. Haven’t a bleedin’ clue what it says.  Pure gibberish, if you ask me.  ‘M just finding the book itself interesting, is all.” 

“Pretty cool, huh?  Xander traded this with an African shaman guy for some of his Baloney Five comics.  Giles said this book is really old.  Like not using paper, old.”

“That it is.  Care to take a gander what it is made of, Slayer?”

Buffy paused and tapped her finger against her lips.  “Um, I’m guessing leather and valium.”

“That’s vellum, luv.  And yeah, you’ve got the skin of _something_ right, just not the golden calf you suspect.” 

Buffy eyed Spike’s smirk and wanted so much to smack it off his face, that, or kissing it off.  She couldn’t decide as each was equally tempting at the moment.

“Looky here Mr. Smarty-pants, this whole I-know-something-you-don’t-know shtick is already getting really old, really quick.  Just tell me.  It’s not like I’m all dainty girl.  It’s no big deal what it’s made from.  Not like I’m going to freak out, it’s only—” 

“Human.”

“What?”  Buffy paled and backed away, rubbing her palms briskly against the couch cushions.  “You mean…that’s…oh, I’m so going to kick Xander’s ass for not knowing that is from Buffalo Bill’s private collection.  Can I say, there totally isn’t enough ‘Ews’ to cover that all this time I’ve been touching dead skin.”

“Well, you weren’t exactly taking issue there last night touching the skin of the dead.  I fondly remember quite the opposite, sweetheart.”  Spike lustfully eyed her.  His tongue curled behind his teeth as he grinned wickedly the whole time.

“That’s totally different and you know it, sicko.  Spike, be serious, how can you not be grossed out that this was made from a _person_?  This so wrong, on so many levels.”

“Turnabout is fair play, lamb.  Humans have been prancing around in animal bits for centuries.  And actually, it’s people, plural.   I wager, maybe a dozen so or more.  Going off how the scents are stronger in the front than the back, this was made over a long period of time.”

Spike continued looking through the book as Buffy watched on with the unmistakable revulsion.

“Awesome.  Nothing says time to get a new hobby more than human scrapbooking, I always say.”  Buffy moved closer, her hand hovering over the book.  “I hate admitting this, and believe me nothing grosses me out more, but I felt, well, actually still feel some weird connection to this _book_.  I don’t know if it makes any sense but—”   

“Actually, it does.  More than you know.”  Spike stopped turning the pages and gestured to his find.   Engraved in the center of two pages was a large symbol: a crude sun accompanied by three stars. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baloney Five comics was a verbal play off the Babylon Five comics.
> 
>  
> 
> Buffalo Bill reference: Silence of the Lambs https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Silence_of_the_Lambs_(film) is a 1991 physiological thriller about an imprisoned serial killer who helps the FBI to locate another serial killer. This killer nicknamed Buffalo Bill, because he skins his victims and makes a “body suit” of their flesh, has kidnapped a US Senator’s daughter. 
> 
> If you haven’t seen the movie, you need to do so. Amazingly creepy. 
> 
>  
> 
> Please take but a moment to leave your thoughts. Thank you.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Time for the next installment. Now, I've been picking at this chapter for days and even though I'm pretty good at catching things, there is a point when all the words blur and you miss the simplest of things. And since I don't have a beta at the moment, if you catch anything kinda weird, please let me know.
> 
> Now we are starting to get to the meat of things. But don't bank on everything here, there is far more to come!

“Just the way my fangs itched, I knew something was up.  At first I thought it was you.  Parading around in my tee-shirt, just begging to be ravaged.  Should’ve known it was more than that.  This was stronger.  Different.  More, I don’t know, primal.”            

“So what, this doodle is like some vampire’s calling card or something?”  Buffy paced, her eyes alternating between Spike and the symbol.

“No.  Not _some_ vampire, Slayer.  Aurelius.  As in the Order of.   _My_ Order.”  Spike lay the book down, stood and approached Buffy, stopping her in her tracks.  “Look, I know you’ve faced and beaten both the Master and Angelus.  Hell, you’d given me a run for my money back in my Big Bad days, but Buffy, you’d _never_ truly came face to face with the Order.  For centuries, they were all powerful.  Over the top traditionalists that mainly kept underground, only coming topside to feed or grow their ranks.  And they were big into worshipping the Old Ones.  Bunch of noise if you ask me.   

“Now Darla was the Master’s pet.  He made her in every sense of the word.  And for over a century she’d worshipped him and everything the Order stood for in kind.  Well had, until some drunken, whoring layabout Mick caught her eye.  Then just like that, she turned her back on the Order and the Master, and focused all her attentions on molding her childe into everything her twisted littl’ heart desired.  What she hadn’t counted on was getting exactly that…and then some.  And around the time Angelus set his sights on Drusilla, the student had far surpassed the teacher.” 

Towards the end Spike’s voice dropped low, now having a distant sotto quality.  Buffy waited, torn between needing him to stop and wanting him to continue.  He did the latter.

“Believe me, I hated that syphilitic whore through and through, but I have to give her, her due.  When Darla wasn’t running back to ol’bat face after she and Angelus had some lover’s spat, she savored the blood of the rich and loved her views.  And Angelus indulged her.  Indulged us.  No more making like fanged moles or kissing the Master’s wrinkly arse.  We four defied the Order by living among the sheep and striking out on our own, making names for ourselves.  And we never looked back.” 

Buffy watched Spike’s eyes glazing over as he relived, for what she assumed, his demon’s glory days.  Then with a shake of his head, like he was clearing away these thoughts, he pressed on.  “Anyhow, fast-forward a century.  With the Master trapped in a sunken church for a better part of sixty years, then you taking care of him all permanent like.  And with me taking out the Annoying One and a few other poncy posers vying for the chance to be the big noise, plus Angel dusting Darla in some grand gesture for you, the once mighty Order was no more.”

“I never knew.  From what I gathered, Darla was more like a pin-up vamp for the Master’s creepy Catholic school girl fetish then actually being all modern-day-woman breaking free from a centuries old boys-only club.  The Council never really knew what a big part she’d played did they?”

Buffy thought back all those years ago when she so naïvely believed Darla was barely worth a second thought, never mind truly understanding who she truly was—a cunning master vamp who singlehandedly swayed the Master while creating, in one way or another, three notorious vampires, who were in their own right formidable, but the four together, nearly invincible.  This new knowledge coupled with the facts that if it wasn’t for Angel, Buffy’s life would’ve ended in a hail of gunfire at the Bronze or even worse a year later, if Darla was there when Angel lost his soul, she would’ve been the ring leader keeping Mr. Arrogance, Mr. Impulsive and Ms. Crazy-pants in check long enough to bring forth the Acathla and the end the world. 

All of these realizations had her mind spinning of what could’ve been. 

But that was the past and she couldn’t go back.  Not that she’d ever want to.  All that mattered now was she was far more cautious, and she truly learned never to take anything or _anyone_ at face value or for granted.  Especially not the vamp standing right in front of her. 

“Luv, you alright?”  Spike’s voice broke Buffy from her thoughts, and brought her back to the here and now.

“Yeah, was just thinking heavy thoughts for a minute there.”  With a cleansing breath, Buffy gave Spike a coy smile while walking her fingers up his chest.  “So, I guess back in the day, you were like some kind of rebel without a cause, huh?” 

“What’d  I tell you baby, I’ve always been bad.”  With a throaty chuckle, Spike wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her throat.

 _“Please.”_     Buffy clutched his forearms trying to keep herself upright.  All breathy whisper, she sounded like she was pleading for him to take her right then and there.  

Luckily, for the sake of research only, following a lingering kiss to her pulse point, Spike pulled away and returned to the couch.  Leaving her standing in the middle of the room, all weak-kneed and trying to regroup and focus.  With a few steadying breaths, she finally found her balance and voice to speak on far safer topics.

“Okay, so let’s review.  This book is somehow connected to me and the Order of Aurelius, but how?  Is this some sort of vampire version of the Slayer’s handbook, like an anti-slayer book?  Plus, why can’t anybody or anything decode Little Orphan Annie’s message?  And since I haven’t used up all my twenty-questions, I wanna know why I can’t get demon blood out of my favorite pair of jeans.”  Dejectedly, Buffy plopped down on the couch next to Spike. “This sucks.  I’m pretty much where I started over a month ago.  Minus a really good pair of Calvin Klein’s.” 

“Maybe with the book, yeah, but you’re not exactly where you were a month ago, are you?”  Spike pulled Buffy onto his lap and enveloped her in his arms.

“You’re right.  I’m in a much better position than I was.”  Buffy melted into his embrace, relishing his affections.

“Actually, there are several more _positions_ I’d love to get you in, sweets.”  Buffy shivered as Spike trailed his hand up her thigh and slid his fingers under the hem of his tee-shirt. 

“Mm…I know you do.  And as tempting as what you have in mind is, I have work to do.  And unfortunately, it requires actually getting dressed and going to see a layabout Mick.”   Buffy placed a soft kiss to his lips and headed into the kitchen.  “I’m heading over to Wolfram and Hart.  I hate to say it, but if anyone has the answers it’s them.  Despite me still being pissed at Angel, he’s my best chance of getting ahold of the secret decoder ring that I know they have.  Stupid, evil guys.  Always have the bestest toys.”

Buffy heard Spike following and taking position behind her while she stood at the kitchen table, taking her phone out from her courier bag.

“’M goin’ with you, Buffy.  We’re in this together, right?  Plus, I’d haunted the place long enough to have an inkling ‘bout the inner workings there.  Far more than Mr. Corporate Talky-Talk, that’s for damn sure.  And believe me when I say, the truest nature of man tends to come out when he thinks no one’s looking.”

Buffy turned to face Spike.  “Fine, but you need a shower first.  I know how you both are with the whole smelling thing and I’m not in the mood to break up another testosterone throw-down.”  Buffy noticed Spike was about to say something and she cut him off with a wave of her hand.  “This is not up for negotiation, Spike.” 

She watched as his eyes narrowed and jaw tightened.  She recognized this look instantly.  He thought she was trying to keep them being together a secret.  Again.  Buffy placed her phone on the table and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Hey, it’s not like that, Spike.  This is not me being ashamed of you.  Ashamed of us.  I don’t care if anyone, especially Angel, has a problem with us being together.  Because it is exactly that, _their_ problem.  You’re my guy, and I promised you…never again.  And I meant it.”  Buffy pulled Spike into a kiss.  One that was full of promises, trust and deep emotions.  When the kiss ended, she gave him the flirtatious smile.

“Now, go get squeaky clean.  And if you’re the good boy I know you’re not, when I get off the phone, I’ll help you with those _hard_ to reach areas.” 

Spike wagged his brows and dipped his head, bringing his mouth close to the shell of her ear.  “Mm…don’t make me wait too long, sweetheart, or I’ll have to start without you.”

With blunt teeth he gave her earlobe a brisk tug before heading off to the bathroom, leaving Buffy with visions of naked, sudsy Spike dancing in her head.  It took some time of deep breathing before she was able to pull her mind out of that gutter and making the call to Angel.  

_Pure evil_

 

**                                                        **                                                        **

 

Buffy hoped Spike was still in the shower.  She spent way too much time on the phone.  Between assuring Harmony she wasn’t going to stake her for having sex but not finishing said sex with Spike.  Then being sent to a form of hell, AKA “on hold”, where she stayed for way too long and was held prisoner by one of the evilest mental torturer known to man—the dreaded earworm.  And finally, last and certainly least, when she was finally pardoned from one hell and sent to another, where the rest of her time was spent listening to Angel apologizing for keeping things from her. 

So to recap, of the total thirty-five minutes she was on the phone, she must’ve said about ten words, tops.  The only positive thing coming from all this wasted time that she was never getting back was Angel agreeing to assemble his “Team” and helping her in any way possible.  With a quick thank you, she hung up the phone and speed-walked to the bathroom.   

_Please still be in there_

The bathroom door was slightly ajar and in an 80’s music video-esque flair, steam wafted from the opening and she heard the echoing of Spike’s deep baritone voice, singing.

“Well, I've heard that the devil's walking around  
I sold my soul way down in the dirt  
But stole it back and forever in debt”

Buffy quietly pushed the door open just enough for her to slip inside.  Her gaze fixated on the blurred silhouette of Spike through the opaque glass shower door.    
  
“And for a moment I don't even care  
Until I feel his breath at my neck  
And maybe even you can feel it too  
He's on a strike and looking at you”

Her mouth went dry, while the juncture between her legs throbbed.  She watched him running his hands over his body, and she was never more envious of a bar of soap and water before in her life than she was right now.  
  
“Holding onto his words, but baby  
I saw an angel become the devil  
Still they look pretty good hand in hand

Well baby, I don't need any of them  
Heaven nor hell” 

 

On his last word, the door rolled on its metal track exposing Spike in all his naked glory. 

“Enjoying the show, baby?”  His voice was low and silky, holding all the promises of sin she knew only he gave her.     

Holding his gaze, she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower, intent on showing him over and over how much she had. 

 

**                                                                 **                                                                                        ** 

              

On the way over to Wolfram and Hart, Spike gave her the low-down about what he’d seen during his time there and how deluded Angel was in thinking he’d change this place while sitting in the belly of the beast.  All in all what she learned was she had to stay on her toes at all times, and the walls had eyes and ears.  The second part, most likely literally.  Buffy then asked Spike about Angel’s “Team”.  He told her what he knew about each of their histories with Angel and their roles at Wolfram and Hart.  By the time she and Spike walked through the lobby, past Harmony’s desk where she was clearly hiding under and thought Buffy didn’t know, and headed towards Angel’s office, Buffy felt she had a better understanding what she was up against and who she could and couldn’t trust.

Inside the conference room several people stood around the large mahogany table.  Some she knew, others she knew only of from what Spike told her.  Buffy greeted Wesley and Gunn with a handshake, and reserved her brightest smile for Lorne.  Then when she was introduced to Fred, Buffy ignored her outstretched hand and went in for a big hug.

“Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for Spike.  I know he’s not easy vamp to get along with, believe me.  But you’ve made at least two people very, very happy.  Just…thank you.” 

Fred returned the hug, and whispered in Buffy’s ear, “You’re welcome and good luck.  Got your work cut out, a charmer that one.” 

Buffy giggled before she and Fred broke away from one another.  Buffy then moved to the head of the table while everyone took their seats.  With a deep breath, she opened her bag and slid the book onto the table. 

“Okay, this is it.  Now, it doesn’t look like much, but believe me, looks are deceiving.  There’s beaucoup power here.  And I, _we_ , need to figure out what it is.”  Buffy’s gaze moved from person to person, then her brow furrowed.  “Wait.  Where’s Angel?”

Just then, the vamp in question stepped into the office and headed over to the conference area.  “Sorry everyone, my power lunch ran longer than expected.  Buffy, I’m glad you’re here.  I hope I haven’t missed too mu—”

Angel stopped mid-word and in an instant, his demon slid to the forefront.  With a turn of his head, his focus shifted to his desk on the other side of the room.  Or more specifically, on Spike who stood in front of his desk.  Then with a low, possessive growl, Angel charged full speed at a grinning Spike. 

“Angel!”   

Buffy rushed over and pulled a severely pissed off, fully-vamped faced Angel off a now chuckling Spike with his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.  Spike slid off the desk top and stood, making a show of brushing himself off while seething Angel remained off to the side with a balled up scrap of black cotton in his clenched fist.  In the brief scuffle Angel managed to rip off Spike’s entire tee-shirt without him removing his jacket. 

With a heavy, I-don’t-have-time-for-this-bullshit sigh, Buffy struck her no-nonsense pose and eyed the two brawlers.

“Okay, care to explain what the hell _that_ was all about?” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I know a lot happened in this chapter but I'd love to read your thoughts on even a wee bit of it! Thanks!! Help get those creative juices flowing!! 
> 
>  
> 
> Here is a pic of the Order of Aurelius’ symbol: http://buffy.wikia.com/wiki/Order_of_Aurelius?file=Aurelian_symbol.jpg
> 
> “drunken, whoring layabout” was from the BTV episode Amends. I just absolutely loved that line and now I had a chance to use it!
> 
> The references to Little Orphan Annie and secret decoder ring (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Secret_decoder_ring) was a homage to A Christmas Story (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Christmas_Story ) a 1983 film classic (one of my favoritist X-Mas films). There is a scene in the movie when the main character has been waiting forever to get his decoder ring so he could figure out Little Orphan Annie’s secret message was. After all this anticipation and waiting, it only said “drink your Ovaltine”. Needless to say, he was pissed. 
> 
> Earworm: for those who are not familiar with this term, it means a catchy piece of music that stays in your head long after the music stopped. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Earworm 
> 
> Now I took some poetic license with the song Spike was singing. The song is called Heaven nor Hell and it’s by Volbeat and was released in 2010. I just felt the lyrics fit so well, and I’ve had this scene in my head for a while. I’m so glad finally being able to put it up on the screen and share the naughtiness with you! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDuO7tcVag0


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you are familiar with my stories, I tend to do a lot of research and I want things to be "just right" before posting. Hopefully you will be patient and keep with me. This chapter has A LOT of stuff going on, a little something for everyone! 
> 
> A big thanks to DauntlessGrace for looking over this chapter for me!

“Well, I’m waiting.”  Buffy stood between Spike and Angel, her steely gaze darting back and forth between them.  With her arms crossed, hip cocked to one side and her foot tapping out an impatient rhythm, she resembled a seriously pissed-off mother waiting for her children to fess up for their wrong doing. 

 _Any minute now one of them is gonna crack.  One…two…_  

“He started it!”  “It wasn’t my fault!” 

No surprise, denial from them both.  Though Spike and Angel were truly different as night and a different kind of night, they looked almost identical with the figurative and actual finger pointing, all the while attempting to look completely innocent.  Which was all so comical since Angel was still in vamp face and Spike, well, Spike trying to pull off a look of innocence was hilarious in itself.  Yet regardless of how funny, Buffy needed to stand firm.   Reeling in the smile teasing the edges of her lips, she continued on in mom-mode. 

“I don’t want to hear it, from either of you.  This is ridiculous.  Why can’t you two be in the same room for more than five minutes without going all _Tom and Jerry_ , huh?”       

“Buffy, please tell me it’s not true.”  Angel dropped his demon façade and stepped closer, his now deep, brown eyes soft and imploring as he held out Spike’s tee-shirt.  Buffy was still unsure for a moment what Angel meant until realization set in.

“Spike!”  Buffy spun around to square off with him.  “Really?  You just couldn’t help yourself could you?  You just had to literally rub his face in it, didn’t you?” 

“But luv, I’m innocent!  Scrubbed up all nice and proper like you asked—” Spike stepped a bit closer to Buffy, his voice dropping low and sultry—“just like the good boy I’m not.” 

Spike wasn’t helping matters any, with the closeness and repeating her words from earlier.  And the closeness.  Her only reaction to all of this was a full-body blushing-tingling.  Well, not her only reaction, but the only one appropriate for where they were.  All she could do was stare while Spike held her under his mini-lust spell.  That was until Angel’s low growling from behind her ended her id stupor. 

_You’re mad, remember?  Must scold…must scold…_

“Don’t give me that, Mister.  You so did this on purpose.  I can’t believe with all the tee-shirts you have, you wore the one I had on.  Just had to poke the bear, didn’t you?”       

“Well, yeah.”  Spike smirked and Buffy caught Angel mid-lunge before he reached his intended target.

“Okay, fine.  Then tell me this, William, why I shouldn’t let Angel slap you silly for this stupid little stunt?”  Buffy felt Angel tensing under her hands and she prepared for another attack.

“Yeah, Willy, tell Buffy why.”  Angel backed off and crossed his arms, offering up a smug smirk of his own. 

Spike mirrored Angel’s position and expression.  “Actually, a far better question she needs to be askin’ Liam, is why you need a reenactment of the last time we had a go, yeah?”    

Angel’s face fell before his demon slid to the forefront, as he tried to exude dominance.  “Watch your mouth, _boy_.  I’m still your elder.  Still can dust you where you stand.” 

Spike answered with his own demon coming forth.  “You can try, _old man_.” 

Simultaneously, both lunged at the other with only Buffy keeping them from tearing one another apart.  With dual shoves, each landed hard on the floor in opposite directions with a seriously pissed off Slayer standing in the middle.

“That’s enough!  This lost all its entertainment value about five trailers ago.  Now, there’s tons of work to be done, and unless we’re breaking out the oil and dollar bills for this little show, then I’m so done.  Either you knock it off or get out, got it?” 

She watched both vampires pull themselves off the floor, each wearing the same sheepish look and mumbling under their breaths.  After Buffy shot them in succession an if-looks-could-stake, they both fell silent.  Once she felt she didn’t have another brawl on her hands, she relaxed and approached Angel.

“Angel, drop the fangs, please.”  Once he returned to his human guise, she continued, “Look, I know it’s hard to hear, or actually, well, smell, that Spike and I are together but it doesn’t change the fact that we are.  But I’m not fooling myself, I know you don’t and may never accept my decision, but all I can ask of you is to respect me and my wishes.” 

“This is Spike we’re talking about here.”   

“I know.”  Buffy held Angel’s gaze, and gave him a warm smile.

Angel sighed heavily and shook his head.  “Know that I’ll never accept this Buffy, but at the very least, I will respect your decision.  Just know if he ever hurts you in any way—”

Buffy stood up on her tiptoes and gave Angel a chaste kiss to his cheek.  “Thank you.”  She turned and headed toward Spike.  His demon was gone.  Gold now replaced by blue, brimming with a look of awe as he studied her intently.  Without a word, she took his hand and led him to the table where the four long forgotten spectators sat gape-mouthed and wide-eyed.  Then Spike, and eventually Angel, took their seats while Buffy stood at the head of the table. 

“Now, with _that_ out of the way, let’s get down to business, shall we?”  Buffy’s gaze traveled around the table.  “I know we have very little time here.  Even with Angel in charge, I’m not exactly welcome and it’s only a matter of time before Evil Inc. kicks me out of their sand box.  So we have to move quickly and get this thing translated.  I’m thinking the divide and conquer route.

“Wesley, bring me everything you have on slayers, the Order of Aurelius and the Shadow Men.  I’m talking scrolls, moldy oldies, codexes, hell, I’ll even take _Evil for Dummies_ if you have it.  It doesn’t matter.  If there’s one word about any of those things, I wanna see it.”

“Fred, I know you’re more the science gal, but I’m thinking of you running some tests.  Not exactly sure what kind, but I trust whatever you need to do to figure out why a whole coven couldn’t hocus pocus a translation from this thing.  I’m wondering if it’s actually big time magic we’re dealing with here or is it just cause it’s made from…”  Buffy felt a little green around the gills and swallowed hard trying to say the rest. 

Seeing her struggle, Angel took the opportunity to finish for her, “Human flesh and blood.” 

“It’s written in blood too?”  Buffy’s eyes grew wide and she instinctually took a step back from the table.

“Brilliant!”  Spike threw his hands into the air in frustration.  “Bull in a bleedin’ china shop you are.  Never cease to amaze Peaches, your knack for finding any opening and just plowing right on in.  No finesse at all.”   Spike huffed and shook his head, before looking at Buffy.  “Luv, you okay?”

“Yeah, no I’m good.”  Buffy let out a humorless chuckle.  “Ya know.  I really shouldn’t be surprised.  You go out of your way to make an _actual_ face book, why not go all out, right?”  Buffy blinked quickly a few times then her eyes moved from the book to across the table.  “Fred, is this little tidbit a deal breaker in getting your help?” 

“Not exactly, just another day at the office around here, right?”  Fred warily eyed the book and forced a smile.

“Thanks.”  Buffy returned her smile, and looked down the table.  “Gunn, heard you got a mind for the legalese.  I know this is a long shot, but see if there’s anything dealing with ancient demon laws.  Go as far back as you can.”

“Okay, then that leaves the four of us hitting the books…” 

“Actually, shortcake, I’m far better at playing Host then research.  And it looks like we’re in for a long night.  So I’m thinking Chinese?  Mu shu and plum sauce all around, some liquid dinner for our vamps—”

Buffy missed half of what Lorne was saying when Spike stretched out in his chair.  The act immediately brought attention to his bare-chestedness and the stark contrast between the rich black leather and his pale, compact-musclyness. 

“—and I’m thinking a black silk button-down for our resident _Chippendale_ over here.”   

“Yeah, I’d like some of that—” Buffy looked around the table seeing every eye was on her.  Spike’s blues were sparkling with mirth and lust, while Angel’s were golden, hate-filled and solely focused on Spike.  “Mu shu with plum sauce!  So my favorite.  Yum.  So, yeah, Lorne, get lots of that.  Okay, so everyone has their assignments…”  After the rush of words, Buffy cleared her throat and opened up her bag, trying to conceal the embarrassment staining her cheeks. 

She kept busy looking down while she heard the others moving and leaving the room, until the room was clear and leaving only her and Spike.  Buffy didn’t look up until a pair of beaten-up Doc Martens come into view. 

“No shame takin’ a gander at what’s yours, luv.” 

Buffy looked up, purposefully bypassing any area where her eyes wanted to “gander”, and fixated on his face.  Spike was giving her that tongue-curling-panty-dropping move which was so not helping matters in the slightest.  So she started pacing and dropped her voice to a whispered-shout. 

“Well, there should be shame.  Lots and lots of shame.  And guilt.  Buckets of that too.  Here I am, openly ogling my boyfriend when I’m supposed to be all commandy and take chargy.  Then to make matters worse, my ex-boyfriend is sitting right next to me and across the table from said boyfriend who I’m staring at like some big vamp ho.  And let’s not forget, this is all happening while we’re all sitting in said ex-boyfriend’s office which is at some big time evil law firm.  So, yeah, it’s just a whole big-time shame, guilt fest going on here.  I’m betting _Dear Abby_ would have a field day with this.”   

“I’m your boyfriend?”

“Out of everything, Spike, that’s what you’re focusing on?” 

Spike stepped in her path, stopping her short.  “It’s the only thing that’s worth a moment’s thought.  Now, please tell me.  Is that how you see me?  As your boyfriend?”

When Buffy finally looked at him, she saw all of his earlier cockiness was gone, replaced by the same look he gave her earlier.  Total and complete awe.  It made her heart skip a beat.

“Um, well, you’re a boy, well a vamp that’s male, and we do things that go along with the whole description of, well that.  And we hang out and we fight, and we do other stuff—lots and lots of _other stuff_ — so if one wants to be technical, that kinda makes you my, well, only if you wanted to be my—”

Spike stepped closer and cupped her face.  “Your what?”

“Boyfriend.  My…my boyfriend.  Only if you want, there’s no pressure—” Spike cut her off with a brief kiss, which she felt all the way down to her toes and that, in her opinion, hadn’t lasted nearly long enough.      

“Been called many things in my time, but never someone’s boyfriend.  Gotta tell you, love the sound of it.  Say it again.”

“You’re my boyfriend.”  Buffy gave an infectious smile.  Spike kissed her again, but when he tried to deepen the kiss, Buffy reluctantly pulled away.

“Not here.  Later, I promise.”  Buffy stepped from his arms and headed back to the table.      

“I’m holding you to it, sweets.”  Spike wagged his brows, then rounded the table and sat down.  Leaning back, he put his feet up on the table and crossed them at the ankles, as he leisurely stretched out.    

At the moment, Wesley entered and set down a stack of books on the conference table. 

“I’ve pulled together some books I remembered as a Watcher that were very significant.  Perhaps Mr. Giles has already reviewed these sources, but it’s worth a second or even a third look.”  Wesley pushed two fairly large, leather bound tomes towards Buffy.  “The _Pergamum Codex_ is the most complete prophecies about the Slayer's role in the end years.  The Master and his role is included in depth.  And this is the _Rhinehardt’s Compendium_ which has a detailed account of demons and demonology.”  Wesley’s assistant then entered holding another considerable stack of books, set them on the table and with a nod, turned and left.  “And these are the _Writings of Dramius_ , volumes eight through fourteen.”

“How did you get your mitts on those, Percy?”  Spike dropped his legs from the table and pulled volume ten over in front of him. 

“What’s so special about this guy’s books?”  Buffy stood and looked over Spike’s shoulder at the page he was studying.

“The Watcher’s Council forbade its members from studying anything contained in volumes eight through fourteen.  Dramius was quite a powerful sorcerer known for his detailed research of demons and the dark arts.” 

“Bugger that.  He was a blowhard, and his books are nothin’ but pages and pages of twaddle with equally useless footnotes.  Damn nearly loss my marbles reading volume six.  Thank bleedin’ Christ for Dalton or I would’ve driven a spike through my own skull before I found what I was lookin’ for.”   

“Six?  If I remember correctly, isn’t the entire volume about the Order of Taraka?”  Wesley raised a brow questioningly.

“Got it in one.  A kewpie doll for the ex-Watcher.” 

Spike held his trademark smirk, until Buffy, remembering who the Order of Taraka were, gave him a dope slap to the back of his head.  Luckily for Spike she hadn’t put any slayer-strength behind it.

“Hey!”  Spike turned and looked back at Buffy.

“I never thanked you for sending the duo of crazy cop and one-eyed jack after me.”  Buffy crossed her arms and eyed him back.

“Well, evil, remember?  And don’t forget, I was the one who called them off too, or they’d still be after your precious hide.  Buggers are relentless, gotta give them that.  They get the job done.”

“Yeah, Giles told me those guys were like the evil Energizer Bunny, with the going and going and going.  Back then I never really found out why all the sudden they were gone, since I was, you know, alive.  But I’m interested now.  So tell me, oh bleached one, why did they back off?”

“Wanted you all for myself, that’s why.”  Spike wagged his brows at his double entendre.

“Oh.”  Buffy felt another full body flush coming on.  She cleared her throat, then headed back to the table and pulled a book from the pile. 

“Well, this should get you started.  I know I’ll have far more given time.  If I’m needed, feel free to have Harmony ring my office.” 

Wesley started to leave, but Buffy calling after him, had him stopping and turning back to face her.

“Wesley?  I know we hadn’t exactly been buddy, buddy back in Sunnydale.  But I just wanted to tell you, I really appreciate your help.  Thanks.”

“You’re more than welcome, Buffy.” With that, Wesley left.             

Spike and Buffy were alone, each skimming through the pile of books in front of them.  A short time passed before Angel silently entered the office.  Buffy noticed he was in game face and was holding an ornate goblet as he stalked to the center of the room.  She instantly felt Angel’s power rolling off him in waves.  Without a word, Spike stood, took off his jacket and crossed the room to Angel, then knelt before him.  Unsure at what was going on; Buffy followed, but stood off to the side, watching their every move.     

“Childe, you have defied my claim and my will.”  Angel snarled with pure malice. 

Spike bowed his head.  “Sire, I offer penance.” 

“Blessed water shall burn away your insolence.  Drink deep, childe.” 

Angel held out the cup.  Spike lifted his head and took the offering with both hands.  Buffy wanted to intervene.  Wanted to slap the cup out of Spike’s hands, and scream and yell at the both of them.  Yet all she could do was watch.  Deep down she knew this was something that had to be done.  For them both.

Without hesitation, Spike drank and when he finished, he bowed his head and held out the empty cup to Angel.  Angel took the cup before he stepped forward and towered over Spike.  Neither moved nor spoke for several moments before Angel turned, walked to his desk, and placed the cup down.  Then as nothing monumental just happened, Angel’s demon slid away while he picked up the phone. 

“Harm, bring in a shirt for Spike, and two cups of otter.  Thanks.” 

Moments later, Harmony came bustling in with Spike’s new shirt draped over one arm, and two mugs of steaming blood.  She handed the mugs to Angel and laid the shirt on the back of a chair.  Surprisingly after Harmony took one look at Spike submissive position, she didn’t say a word before leaving.

Angel walked over to Spike and held out a mug.  “Here.  Now get up, we have work to do.” 

Spike lifted his head and stood, taking the mug with a nod.  Angel headed to the conference table and started shifting through the stacks of books.

Buffy stepped closer to Spike as his demon façade slid away.  “What the hell was _that_ about?  I thought I was gonna be sweeping you from the carpet there for a minute.”

“Old traditions.”  Spike set the mug down, picked up his new shirt and started to dress.

“I thought you said you guys didn’t follow traditions.  You know with the whole bad-to-the-bone speech you gave me earlier.”

“Those involving the Order, yes.  But this is far older than them.  There are practices going way back, back to the first vamps.  Dominance of a sire over his childe, that’s one of the biggies.  It’s as instinctually as drinking blood.  The minute you crawl out of the grave, a childe submits to his sire.  Or grandsire as the case may be.”    

“Well, I guess that makes sense, in a troll logic way, but exactly when have you _ever_ listened to what Angel says.”

“Never, for the most part.  But when it counts, I do.  This is one of those times.”

“Okay, that explains that, but what’s with the claim he’s talking about.  Claim on what?”  Buffy tried to keep her voice down, but she knew even whispering Angel would’ve overheard.  But this couldn’t wait till later for an explanation.

“Not what, _who_.”  Spike stepped closer and brushed the hair back from her shoulder.  “You wear his mark.  Which, by his demon, makes you his.  And as his and me as his childe, I had no right to challenge his claim.  So the only way I could make this right was my demon’s submission to his.” 

Buffy felt her anger rising.  How dare Angel.  This was another way he was trying to tell her what to do with _her_ life.  Well, that was in no way in hell going to happen.  As always, Spike must’ve picked up on her ire, and tried to calm her by gently placing his palm to her cheek. 

“Now, don’t get all I-am-woman-hear-me-roar.  I know this doesn’t make any sense, but the demon rarely does.  It’s primitive, visceral.  All it wants is to feed and fuck, and stake its claim.  The only thing that keeps any of us from becoming the mindless demon raging inside is who’s in charge.  Man or beast.” 

“So based on some vampire demon code, you were going to dust yourself from the inside out to prove yourself to him?  Then tell me, how was your demon going to be all submissive to his if it’s poof?  That makes a whole lot of not sense.”

“Again, the demon isn’t big on higher thinking.  What was in the cup really didn’t matter.  Angel gave his demon what it wanted, my submission.  And truth be told, I’m glad it wasn’t Angelus doin’ the demanding, he’d been far less kind than the empty threat of drinking holy water.”

Buffy’s mind started to fill with all different things Angelus could’ve done to Spike.  Some acts were brutally sadistic, while others, thinking back on her earlier comments about the oil, more erotic than she’d care to admit. 

Spike’s scarred brow raised as his grin grew.  He stepped closer and lowered his mouth to her ear.  “Now tell me, Buffy.  What sort of naughty thoughts are swirlin’ round that pretty littl’ head of yours to get your heart racing like that, hmm?” 

Not wanting to upset Angel or his demon anymore, Buffy pulled back and mouthed to Spike, “Tell you later.”  Then, with a wink, she headed to the table and sat next to Angel.  Sipping from his mug, Spike walked over to the table and joined them.   He scanned the books, grabbed one and sat down.

The trio researched for a bit before Buffy totally felt awkward from sitting there between her new and ex-boyfriend, Spike being abnormally quiet and still, and the whole vampire power-trip thingy that just happened.  It was all too weird. 

“So…the three of us…doing research.  Totally bizarre, huh?”

They were both looking at her now, and she felt even more, instead of less, uncomfortable.  Buffy squirmed in her seat as she desperately tried to think of something else to say.

“I’m so hoping we finally find out what’s in that skin mag.”  Buffy’s eyes widened, almost comically, as she realized what she said.  “I mean, it’s not like we know if the book is dirty, cause we don’t even know what it says…that’s why we’re researching.  The book.  Not, you know, porn stuff.”  Needing to look anywhere besides the two vampires staring at her, Buffy looked down at the book she had opened in front of her.  “Oh look, this demon has three horns and prefers daisies over lilacs.  Huh, interesting.”

Buffy focused on the picture of the horny demon and pretended to be engrossed in what she wasn’t really reading.  Soon Angel and Spike resumed their own research.  Buffy sneaked a glance at her study buddies as she silently hoped for the best.

 _Things can only get easier from here on out, right?_    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the plural to codex is codices, Buffy wouldn’t know that, hence codexes. 
> 
> Pergamum Codex Rhinehardt’s Compendium Writings of Dramius, are all books either shown or talked about during Btv and Angel. 
> 
> Please take a moment to give me your thoughts. FEED THE MUSE!!!


	13. Chapter 13

_Wrong. So, so wrong_

Buffy should’ve known she was asking for trouble when she silently hoped things were going to get easier.  Nothing was ever easy.  Case in point—her life.

Almost twenty hours and the third round of take-out later, they weren’t any closer to translating the book.  This was all giving Buffy a bad case of déjà vu of _Groundhog Day_ proportions, minus the endless rendition of “I Got You Babe” and Phil the furry sidekick.    

Either of these would’ve been welcomed distractions. 

_Talking about distractions, I really should be listening to Wesley_

“…despite a thorough search of the archives, I wasn’t able to locate any comparable text.  However, given that this book was made over an extended length of time and possibly handed down over multiple generations, would naturally generate some sort of linguistic evidence.  Even dead and extinct languages, no matter how removed, have an origin in which we can trace.  Given more time, I can locate this source.”

“Keep working on it, Wes.  Anything else?”  Angel sipped from his fourth mug of otter.

“Actually, yes.  Since I was unable to translate this book using more _traditional_ means, I decided to try another approach.  This too had the same outcome.  Nothing.  Yet in this instance, the lack of reveal in itself, actually divulged quite a lot.”

Buffy took a quick sip of her Tab to wash down the four tacos she’d just polished off.  “Huh, what?”

“Neither the release nor dissolution spell I cast revealed _anything_.  Nothing at all.  It was as if the words themselves did not exist.  They had, for the lack of a better term, no reflection.” 

“Just like a vampire.”  Angel sat forward, placing both hands on the table.

“Exactly.”  Wesley nodded.

“Strangely, this makes sense.  It’s kinda like that time with the whole creepy aspect of the demon thingy.  I couldn’t read Angel’s thoughts.  No matter how hard I tried, it was just blank.  Nothing there.”

“No surprise.  All forehead, no brain.”  Spike’s scoff earned a scowl from Angel which he completely ignored.  “So Percy, you thinkin’ this was done by some vamps heavy into the black arts?”

“Yes, I do, but I believe Fred is far better equipped to explain how.”  Wesley nodded to Fred, who quickly took over.

“Okay, as most of you know, the very foundation of magic is built off the laws of physics.  The Law of Conservation of Energies states that energy cannot be created nor destroy, only altered from one form to another.  So my theory is that the energies naturally created by the existence of a living human being were harnessed and it is these same energies fueling the magic guarding the book from revealing the words.”    

“Should’ve known, blood magic.”  Spike shook his head.

“The castor obviously is extremely powerful.  And since flesh magic is very unpredictable, I believe our best course is approaching this without the use of any further magics on our part.”  Wesley took a slow sip of his drink.

“Agreed, old school it is.  So I’m guessing we’re back to square one.  Figuring out what language this is written in, which means more research, yay.”  Buffy held up her hands in mock celebration, and then gestured towards the book in the middle of the table.  “So Fred, you got anymore show-n-tell for the class?” 

“Well, I’m still waiting on the results, but I conducted a series of radiocarbon testing on a cross-section of quires to determine when the book was assembled.  Now, since soft tissues—tendons, ligaments, fascia, skin, fibrous tissues, fat, synovial membranes and the like are constantly being made and remade all throughout a lifetime, the carbon-fourteen levels found will be identical to those of the contemporary atmosphere at the time these soft tissues were formed.  By gauging these levels, after of course taking into account margin of error, will give us an accurate time frame.”  The more Fred talked, the more excited she appeared to be about her findings.  This eagerness was short lived after taking in the confused faces staring back at her.  With a weak smile Fred added, “We can figure out the age of the book based on when the first person died.”

“I don’t know about you guys, but color me totally impressed.”  Buffy looked around the table, receiving nods in agreement.  “Okay, so while we’re waiting on Fred’s results we keep looking for the needle in the proverbial language haystack.  I’m thinking, more than ever, we gotta figure out what this book says.  There’s some major mojo working here and…”      

“Boss?”  Harmony entered, but hesitantly stood back waiting for acknowledgment.

“Harmony, I told you we couldn’t be interrupted…” 

“I know you did, Bossy, but the phone has been ringing off the hook.  And I’ve tried to tell him you were super busy, but things are kinda getting crazy.  George is pretty riled up about the beaucoup bucks Wolfram and Hart shelled out for some MIA guy’s bail, and now stuff’s flying around all over the office.”  Harmony threw her hands up in the air.

“Fine.”  Angel stood from the table and headed over to his desk, his brow was furrowed and he looked confused.  “Who’s George again?”

“Legal department…”  Harmony tried jogging his memory, but Angel didn’t catch on, so she tried again, “Sadecki demon with the bad comb-over.  So not fooling anyone.”

“Oh, okay.  Patch me through.”  Angel waited by the phone as Harmony hurried out of the office.  A moment later the phone rang and he answered. “This is Angel…yes, but isn’t this your department’s…that’s true but…no, no need to involve Special Projects, I will handle this personally…thank you.” 

Angel hung up and sighed heavily as he rounded his desk.  “Greenway’s gone missing.  We have to track him down before anyone catches wind he’s skipped town.  Let’s meet back here in twenty.”

Without a word, Fred, Wesley and Gunn collected their things, headed to the door and left.  Buffy stood and followed, meeting up with Angel.

“Angel?  What the…we’re in the middle of something here.  Something big.” 

“Buffy, this issue needs to be taken care of.  It can’t wait.” Angel stepped around her and headed towards the elevator adjacent to his desk.  He didn’t make it far before Buffy grabbed his arm.

“This can’t wait either, Angel.  I’ve been working on this for months, and we just had a major breakthrough.  I’m not stopping now.” 

“No one is stopping you.  It’s just that _we_ can’t help you anymore than we already have, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?  So the minute _976-Evil_ calls, everything that we’ve been working on is not important?  That’s so messed up, Angel.” 

“This is my _job_ , Buffy, to handle situations when they come up.  I have responsibilities.  I don’t have time to play around anymore.”  Angel shook off Buffy’s hand and pressed the elevator button.

“Really?  _You_ have responsibilities?  Tell me Angel, what is that like, cause I don’t have a clue at all about having responsibilities.”  Buffy crossed her arms, her steely gaze fixed on Angel’s back.

Angel spun around.  All his earlier patience drained away leaving only irritation as he stalked towards Buffy.  “You go on and on about being a grown up and I should treat you as such, but you make it pretty hard to do that when you’re acting like a little brat every time you don’t get your own way—”

“Now look here you right bastard!” 

Spike moved from the sidelines where he was carefully watching and stormed towards Angel, only being blocked by Buffy who was watching Angel’s eyes flash amber.

“Take Spike and go.  Better yet, don’t stop till you’re back in Italy and stay there.” 

“So that’s how it is?  Fine, we’re leaving.  Don’t want to waste anymore of your precious time better served on your _responsibilities_ here.”  Buffy headed back to the table, quickly gathered her belongings and left Angel’s office with Spike in tow.    

 

*****

 

Buffy was already halfway down the block before the anger fueling her pace started to fade, finally giving Spike the opportunity to catch up. 

“I can’t believe Angel.”  Buffy stopped and turned towards Spike.  “What am I saying?  Actually, I can.  This isn’t the first time he kicked me out.  Last time it was out of _his_ city.  Now he thinks he can kick me out of the whole US?  Well, he’s got some nerve.  I’m such an idiot.  Giles told me not to trust Angel, but I vouched for him.  I said that he’d do the right thing.  Now I’m thinkin’ Giles was right.  Bad guys one, slayer zero.” 

“Luv, you couldn’t have known how bad it was.  Angel lost sight of what is really important the minute he went from fighting evil to representing it.  Bastard can’t see past the power lunches and a garage full of fancy cars to see what’s what anymore.”  Spike took hold of Buffy’s hands.  “No fret, you’ll get through this.  Might be a tad more difficult without a massive library spanning centuries and infinite dimensions at your fingertips, but hey, you’ve had less to work with and still kicked arse, yeah?  You’ll make this work.  Always do.”

Despite how the stinging of annoyance lingered, it was far less ouchy.  She felt better.  _Spike_ made her feel better.  

“You’re right, _we_ can do this.  You and me.”  Buffy offered up a small smile.  

“Sounds like a plan.”  Spike tugged Buffy closer, loosely wrapping his arms around her waist.  “Now, let me take you home so we can forget about our responsibilities for a bit.  I’m thinking, a good four to five hours of forgetting.  Are you game?” 

There was no way she was saying no to that, especially when he flashed her, her sexual kryptonite—the tongue-curl.          

“The question is, are you?”  With that, Buffy took off running towards Spike’s apartment with a very horny vampire hot on her heels.

 

*****

 

_ LA, basement apartment: _

 

Fred, Wesley, Gunn and Angel stood in the center of the dimly lit room.  The air was heavy with the scent of burning candles and blood.  On the floor at their feet, five slain nuns with their throats slit, arranged in a ritualistic display.

Angel took in the scene, tuning out everyone and what they were saying.  It was too much.  It’s not like he hasn’t seen, or even more so, done worse, but this was all too much.  _This_ was his breaking point.   

“That's it.” 

“But probably months, or maybe weeks if I really push—” Fred stepped forward trying to reason with Angel who was backing up towards the door.

“I can't do this anymore.”  Angel shook his head.   

“Do what?”  Gunn turned to watch Angel.   

“Any of this.  Living with it.  Running Wolfram & Hart.”  Angel threw up his hands in defeat.  “I quit.”  Angel turned and left the apartment, leaving a totally stunned Wesley, Fred and Gunn behind.

 

*****

 

_ LA, across town: _

 

_Images of archaic symbols and a leather-bound book._

_Images of Angel doubling over in pain._

_Images of swirling black smoke filling the mouths of hundreds of girls making them slayers._

_Images of Buffy with fangs._

 

Inside a hospital room, Cordelia gasped and her eyes opened wide, the visions plunging her back into consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Groundhog Day was a 90’s movie when the main character, Bill Murray, had to relive the same day over and over again until he got his life “right”. Bill Murray plays Phil, but the Phil I was referring to is the name given to the legendary groundhog in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania who is brought out to see his shadow every February 2nd to let people know how many weeks in winter is left. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Groundhog_Day_(film)
> 
> Quire: “four sheets of paper or parchment folded to form eight leaves, as in medieval manuscripts.” 
> 
>  
> 
> Sadecki demon: look human except for the completely white eyes and spines protruding from their backs. They are known for telepathy and telekinesis. http://buffy.wikia.com/wiki/Sadecki_Demon
> 
> Greenway was one of WR&H’s clients, in trouble for racketeering and who escaped to another dimension. WR&H invested 10 million in bail costs. http://buffy.wikia.com/wiki/Greenway
> 
> 976-Evil: is a campy horror movie from the late eighties. Ironically, one of the main characters is named Spike. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/976-EVIL If you go on this site: http://www.film.com/movies/erics-bad-movies-976-evil-1988 take a look at the pic half way down: slicked back hair, cigarette, leather jacket, the I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude what other Spike does that remind you of. Well, of course, our Spike is way hotter.
> 
> If you haven’t already guessed, the last two sections are from the episode “You’re Welcome” written by David Fury. The dialog was taken directly from there.
> 
> This is one of my all-time favorite Angel episodes. Now, I wasn’t going to go line by line of Fred, Wesley, Gunn and Angel’s interaction at Greenway’s place. I just used what I felt was the most important. 
> 
> PLEASE TAKE A MERE MOMENT TO LEAVE YOUR THOUGHTS. BELIEVE ME, THEY MEAN MORE THAN YOU KNOW.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the delay, but this chapter posed to be harder to bring together than I liked. After all the hair pulling, swearing, writing and rewriting, this is the end result. I'm hoping you enjoy!
> 
> I am pleased to introduce my new beta, etraytin! Many thanks to and for her coming in and helping me out!!!! Any mistakes or errors are simply my own, cause I'm a stubborn b*tch like that.
> 
> Now on to the show...

_So lovely_

Spike looked down at the woman wrapped around him while she slept.  She looked so beautiful in quiet repose.  Even though he felt her—her warmth, the even puffs of her breath fanning across his chest, her heart steadily beating—it was all still so surreal.  

He finally got the girl.  

It had taken years of humiliation and hatred, endless fighting, and the trials and tribulations of earning back and possessing a soul to bring him to this very moment.  And it was a hell of a ride, literally.  Yet strangely, and maybe this was his inner masochist talking, he wouldn’t change a bleedin’ thing.  Not for the world.

So why was he was still waiting for the proverbial other Doc to drop?  

Even after all this time, even after all he’d gone through and done to prove himself, that ever-present nagging of deep-seated insecurities still remained.  They still echoed in his mind, sounding as clearly as they had when they were first spoken:  

_I do see you. That’s the problem, William.  You’re nothing to me._

_There's no belonging or deserving anymore. You can take what you want, have what you want... but nothing is yours._

_Ask me again why I could never love you!_

_It wouldn’t be you, Spike.  It would never be you._

_You’re beneath me._

No matter what he’d been told to counter these scathing words, no matter how hard he’d fought against all odds to be more than anyone had believed he’d ever surmount to, it was never enough.  He never felt like _he_ was enough.  

And would he ever truly be, especially now?

Buffy shifting beside him broke him from his thoughts.  When he looked down, he was met with the biggest pools of green staring back.    

“Good morning.”  Buffy pressed a kiss to his chest right above his heart.  

Spike felt himself responding physically to her immediately.  He welcomed the distraction.  It was best not to ruin the moment any further with his pathetic insecurities.

Spike pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, taking a deep breath in and holding it, savoring her fragrance.  “It’s afternoon, little after two.”  

“Really?  I haven’t slept in this late, like, forever.  So comfy.”  Buffy nuzzled closer, tightly banding her arm around his waist.  

“Happy to oblige, luv.  In point of fact…”  Spike rolled them and settled between Buffy’s splayed thighs.  

“Mm…so you’ve been up long?”  Buffy giggled and shifted her hips, rubbing wantonly against the aforementioned “up”.

“You have no idea, my lil’ minx.”  Spike claimed her lips, trying to steal away her breath and silence any of his own lingering uncertainties.    

Spike scattered nips and open-mouth kisses along her throat, teasing the sensitive flesh there.  Yet Buffy clearly had other plans as the hand clutching his head redirected him elsewhere.

Spike rumbled against her breasts, “Never been one to disappoint my lady.”

Buffy hummed and mewled her agreement as he sedulously explored and tasted, mapping out every tender slope and sensitive peak of her body.  

“Mm…Spike…some…somebody’s coming.”  Buffy’s stuttering had Spike grinning against her inner thigh.  

“I bet _somebody_ is, isn’t she?”  Spike teasingly nibbled his way upwards, finessing the spot between her thigh and his heaven.  

Buffy squirmed and closed her legs, bear-trap quick.  Fortunately for Spike’s inhuman reflexes, he’d gotten his head outta there just in the nick of time.  “Not me, you dork.  Someone’s at the door!”  Buffy harshly whispered as she lifted the sheet covering her lower half and the entirety of him, before little-bunny-foo-foo-ing Spike on the top of the head.

Spike scaled Buffy’s body.  When his head and shoulders broke free from the covers, he then heard someone was really at his door.  “What the buggering hell!”  Spike threw off the covers, climbed out of bed and stormed toward the door.

“Spike, aren’t you forgetting something?”  Buffy words prompted him to stop and turn.  He was momentarily stunned by the vision before him: Buffy tangled in his sheets, face flushed, hair tousled in an ‘I’ve-just-been-being-ravished’ ‘do.

_So, so lovely_

Spike clenched his fists when this impromptu visitor started turning the knob. Spike held out his hand to her, pleadingly. “Be right back.  Don’t. Move.” Spike spun around and resumed his mission to tear apart the blighter at his door.

“Hello?” Buffy repeated, more insistently. Slightly agitated, Spike turned back and was hit mid-chest with balled-up black denims.  “Pants!”

“Ta.”  Spike slid on his jeans, all the while grumbling, “It’s the middle of the bleeding day, vampire here.” and “This better be worth their life.”

Spike tore open the door, his eyes narrowing at the man standing on the other side.

“Really should knock on a bloke's door, Doyle... especially one that's got no qualms about killing trespassers.”  

Doyle tried to enter but Spike stayed his ground, not letting him pass.  

“Come on.  Is that any way to talk to your benefactor?  Just a little concerned about you.  You haven't been out in the field lately.”  

“In case you haven’t been keeping up with the sports pages, I got my bloody hands hacked off by that deranged slayer you sent me after.”  Spike flashed some fang then stepped aside, letting Doyle enter since Buffy had, by then, headed off to the bathroom.  

“Yeah, I'm sorry about that, but, hey, your good old buddies at Wolfram & Hart managed to reattach them just fine, huh? You can sit around here and um… _play_.”

Spike watched Doyle’s eyes darting over toward the bedroom. “Rehab, mate.  Working out the digits.”  Spike leaned against the open door.  “Look, thanks for the stop by to see how ‘m on the mends, but my lady’s here and she looks far better in a nurse’s uniform than you so...”  Spike mimicked walking with two fingers.  

“Don't forget you got a job to do. The Powers That Be are counting on their champion.”  Clearly taking the hint, Doyle started out the door.  “So are all the other helpless people—”

“I don't need a pep talk, Doyle.  I already plan on going out. You just get one of your visions to tell me when and where.”

“That's what I like—” Doyle’s cell phone rang. “That's what I like to hear.”  Doyle pulled his cell phone out from his jacket pocket, then moved further into the hall and answered, “Yeah?”

Spike idly picked at his nails waiting for Doyle to finish.  After a moment, he realized he could be using this time far more productively, like in the bedroom with Buffy. He was pulling the door shut when Doyle began to moan.  Spike watched Doyle drop his phone and clutch his head with both hands, wincing in pain and then looking up at Spike with wide eyes. Spike glared back, thoroughly pissed off he was missing sudsy fun time with the Slayer for a throwback to his chip-having days.  

“What the bleedin’ hell was that?”  

“Your new mission.”      

 

*****

 

“Do you hafta?”  The following day, Buffy was hugging Spike tightly as they stood at his apartment door.    

“Sorry, luv, duty calls.  My bloke with direct links to the Powers said I’m needed, so I gotta go.”    

“I get that, believe me I do, it’s just... last time Angel was such an ass and I don’t want you to go.”  

Spike watched Buffy pout.  He was just itching to say the hell with it all, but this was the reason why he stayed in LA.  Hero to the people. Helping the helpless—   even if the helpless happened to be The Mighty Forehead himself.

After taking another look at Buffy’s pout and all wrapped up just in his black tee, Spike opened the door.  He really needed to get going before he changed his mind and dragged his girl back to bed, or shagged her against the wall.  Either, or perhaps both worked just as well.

_Get a grip, mate_

“Grumble.  I thought for sure the power of the pout would’ve worked.”   Buffy pulled Spike into a lingering kiss, then playfully swatted his behind.  “Fine, go be the hero.”  

Spike pressed another kiss to her lips before heading down the hallway. Turning midway, he called back, “Offer still stands…sexy sidekick.”  Spike waggled his brows and got a smile from Buffy.

“Go, so you can hurry back.”  Buffy blew Spike a kiss then closed the door.

Spike stared at the door for a moment before heading toward Wolfram and Hart.     

 

*****

 

“So what are we exactly looking for?”  Buffy walked several feet ahead of Spike, one hand steadily holding a flashlight while the other was on the stake in her waistband.  

Spike wasn’t surprised when Buffy caught up to him in the sewers not even a block from his flat.  Not that her company put him out any.  Quite the contrary.  He knew his girl wasn’t one for the sidelines.  Always throwing herself into the thick of it, that one, and he loved every second of it.  It was especially brilliant now since she’d traded in his black tee for his black silk shirt, fashioned into some sort of sexy knotted jobby cinched at her tiny waist, plus a pair of jeans that cradled her arse perfectly—just as his hands had not too long ago.  And if the two of them storming Evil Inc. together pissed off Angel in the process, well, that was just another bonus.  

_Damn, unlife is good_

Spike dropped his eyes from Buffy’s arse, shook his head to clear it while hurrying to catch up with her.  If his tinglies were right, they were nearing Wolfram and Hart.

“Don’t rightly know.  Doyle didn’t give particulars.  Told me to keep an eye out for a hell bitch in a Cordelia suit.”  

“Are you sure he didn’t say keep an eye out for that hell bitch Cordelia in a suit?  Now _that_ totally makes more sense.”  Buffy smirked and stopped.  “So where is this secret door?  Cause I gotta tell you, sewer travel is way overrated.”  She batted away a cobweb.

“Just up ahead.  It leads up to a utility closet.  Door’s hidden behind a rack of loo rolls.”  Spike walked several feet more.  “Spotted this escape hatch on my ghostly travels.  Only so many hours of annoying Angel can one ghost make.”  Finally finding the spot he was looking for, Spike reached up and shifted a brick which made a section of the wall move and expose a staircase.        

“Wow, very _Clue_ -like.  Are you sure we’re not meeting Professor Plum with a candlestick in the Conservatory?”  Spike gave her a scarred-brow raise, causing Buffy to shake her head.  “Never mind, lead the way.”

A set of stairs, another lever and secret door later, they were standing inside a Wolfram and Hart’s utility closet.  Before heading out, Spike listened at the door to make sure the coast was clear.  Hearing no one in the hallway, Spike motioned for Buffy to follow him out.  Silently they walked through the maze of corridors for what seemed like forever. He’d been so sure he knew the way, but every hallway looked exactly the same. Right before deciding they needed to double back, Spike heard a familiar male voice and signaled for Buffy to hang back as he rounded the corner alone.

“Spike.  What the hell are you doing here?  Thought you’d be half way to Rome by now.”  Angel crossed his arms, his stance rigid. Clearly he was brassed off.

_Bonus_

“Actually ‘m here on business.  Helping the helpless now, or hadn’t Crocket and Tubbs given you the memo after their little visit to my flat?”  Spike stood taller, fully enjoying the self-doubt setting shop up on Angel’s face.

“Look, I don’t have time for this.”  Angel pushed past Spike.  

Spike grabbed Angel’s arm.  “Came to tell you, that curvy blast-from-the-past isn’t who you believe or hope her to be.”

Angel shoved off Spike’s hand, then quickly grabbed Spike by the throat and pinned him against the wall.  “What do _you_ know about Cordelia?”

Spike sputtered and flailed, trying to break Angel’s hold.  “Got the drop, Cordelia was taken over by some big bad.  Came to destroy you all.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Spike saw a flash of movement then the pressure on his throat was gone.  With a few deep unneeded breaths, Spike turned to watch Buffy at work.  She now had Angel pinned against the wall, a stake poised over his heart.    

“Now you know I’d never fight Spike’s battles for him, Angel.  Actually, not too long ago, I was usually head cheerleader to those beating him up.  Cause let’s face it, more often than not, Spike deserved having his ass kicked.  But see, this time he doesn’t.  And against my better judgment, he came here to warn you.  All you have to do is listen.  Got it?”  Buffy looked over to Spike and nodded.  “Okay Spike, you got the floor.”

“Well, that was pretty much the message.” Spike shrugged.

“Oh, well then—” Buffy lowered the stake from Angel’s chest and slipped it into her waistband.  “He said what he came here to say, so, um, good luck with that.”  Buffy headed over to Spike, and together they started walking down the hall.

“Buffy?”  Angel called out.  Both Spike and Buffy stopped and turned toward him as he approached.  “Look, you’re right.  I was being, well, am being—”

“A gigantic ass?”  Buffy scoffed and added a cocked brow for effect.

“Yeah, that, and I wanted to, well, I needed to apologize for my behavior.  To you both.”  

For the first time in over a century, Angel actually looked sincere.  Even after everything he’d gone through with the bastard, his earnestness struck Spike deeply.  They all stood speechless for a moment before Angel broke the silence.

“As for the thing that possessed Cordy, it’s long dead, Spike.”   

“Well, looks like tattoo boy was wrong this time.”  Spike shrugged his shoulders and looked at Buffy.

“Tattoos?”  Angel furrowed his brow, staring intently at Spike.

“Yeah, strange markings.  Symbols. Tribal-like.  Why?”

“Cordy’s vision had tattoos.  She and Wes were researching them, found out some interesting information.  But it wasn’t a lot to go on.  Maybe this is another lead.”  Angel shifted.  “If you guys are willing, you know, we can certainly use the help. If you’re both up to more researching.”

Spike and Buffy exchanged looks, then Buffy smiled.  “Sure, Angel, we’ll help.”         

 

*****

 

“Buffy.” Cordelia approached Buffy, giving her a once over.

“Cordelia.”  Buffy returned the icy reception.

“So how’ve you been?”  Cordelia crossed her arms, jutting one hip to the side.

“Died, resurrected…rinse repeat, was in heaven, closed a Hellmouth.  You?”  Buffy mirrored Cordelia’s pose.

“Elevated to a higher plane, two mystical pregnancies, coma.  You know, typical Tuesdays.”  

“Yeah, ain’t that the truth.”  Buffy’s eyes lowered then she looked back up, smiling.  “Gotta say, lovin’ the Manolos.”

“Gorgeous, aren’t they?”  Cordelia smiled as she modeled her shoes.  “Now, the shoe gods would totally strike me down for saying this, but these look like Birkenstocks compared to the shoes I had in Pylea.”  

Cordelia called over to Angel who was standing off to the side with Spike as he watched with rapt interest.  “Angel, did you tell Buffy about when I was a princess?  I mean, yeah, it was in a hell dimension and I wasn’t exactly queen, but hello?  Me.  A princess.  Gotta love it.”

“Cordy, research first.  Talk of Pylea later.”  Angel headed over to the table and held out a book.

“Fine, Mr. Buzzkill.  So why is it never the time to talk about when it was _me_ in charge, huh?  Can you say jealous much?”  Cordelia snatched the book from Angel and sat down in a huff.

Buffy and Spike joined Angel and Cordelia at the table.  Soon Wesley entered with an armful of books and added them to the growing pile.  While Spike sketched Doyle’s tattoos from memory, the others each took one of his drawings and tried to locate them and their meanings.  

Cordelia eyed the titles of books in a large stack nearby.  “ _Pergamum Codex_ and _Rhinehardt’s Compendium_?  Some light reading, huh?”  

“Those were for earlier research.  For Buffy,” Wesley explained.

Cordelia pushed her book aside. “Well, I certainly need a break from playing name-that-tattoo, so what were you looking for?”

“Long story short?  How to read this.”  Buffy pulled the “Good Vibrations” book from her satchel and set it on the table.  

Cordelia slid the book in front of her and opened to the first page, studying it for a few moments.  “Really?  You guys couldn’t figure this out?” Cordelia looked around at all the clueless faces, and then rolled her eyes.  “Duh, it’s Sanskrit.”  

Wesley stood and moved behind Cordelia. “Sanskrit?  I don’t believe it is.  That was one of the hundreds of languages known to man and demon I compared this script against.  It wasn’t a match.”  

“Well, I’m not surprised.  This is not your typical human-people Sanskrit.  This is the super-old Sanskrit, back when demons used it.  And when I’m talking demons, I’m meaning the _first_ demons.”

“This is the language of the Old Ones?  Primordial Sanskrit?”  Wesley grabbed the book from Cordelia, studying closer.  “Are you certain?”

“Um, yeah.  When your body and mind are hijacked by some rogue member of The Powers That Be, some of their memories kinda tend to stick around.”  Cordelia shrugged.

“Really, you can read this?”  Buffy’s eyes were wide as she rounded the table to stand next to Cordelia.

“Recognize, yes.  Read, no.  Sorry, I’m good but not that good.  Actually, I _am_ that good, just no hablo Sanskrit.”  

“Wes, if Cordelia’s right”— Buffy ignored Cordelia scoffing and continued—“do you think you’ll be able to translate this now?”  

“Well, the _Devandiré Codex_ is the only book I know that has any written passages of Primordial Sanskrit.”  Buffy’s face fell before Wesley added, “Luckily, we have the only copy in existence.”  

Cordelia leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as a smug smile bloomed.  “So where do you wanna start, my jewels or the outfits?”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes come from episodes: Atv: “Destiny”, Btv: “Seeing Red” and “Fool for Love”
> 
> Little Bunny Foo-Foo is a song about a rabbit harassing field mice. Part of the song talks about the rabbit scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Bunny_Foo_Foo
> 
> Some dialog taken directly from Atv’s “You’re Welcome”
> 
> Clue is a murder/mystery game invented by an Anthony Pratt in 1944. Professor Plum, candlestick and Conservatory are also from the game. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cluedo
> 
> Crockett and Tubbs are characters from the smash 80’s hit, Miami Vice. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miami_Vice. Alas, I cannot take credit for Spike referring to Gunn and Wesley as Crockett and Tubbs, the honor goes to Brent Fletcher who wrote the episode, “Soul Purpose”
> 
> “Good Vibrations” was the name Xander gave this book wayyyyy back in Chapter Three
> 
> The rogue member of the PTB is Jasmine. For those who didn’t follow Angel, which you’re so lucky because Season 4 was a shit show, read here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jasmine_(Angel)
> 
>  
> 
> This is the first time I've written Cordelia...so please be gentle. Please take a moment to leave your thoughts. Thank you!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey remember me? Yeah, yeah...it's been awhile. Far too long for my liking and hopefully yours as well. However I have a reason. 3116 words why. This chapter and the next has taken a lot out of me and was hard to write. Hopefully it paid off.
> 
> I would like to take a moment to thank my beta etraytin. After the first read through she gave me some valuable suggestions which I took and ran with. I hope you like where I went with this all. Also, if there are any boo-boos because I kept messing with the chapter, please let me know and don't blame etraytin. It's all me. Now, without further ado...

_Jab  Cross  Jab_

Spike watched mesmerized as Buffy showed no mercy to her opponent, striking with a speed and accuracy she’d honed to a razor’s edge over the years.  Just as the very first time from the shadows in the alley behind the Bronze, he waited for her opponent to inevitably give and its grainy remains to litter the ground. 

“Stop it Spike—” Buffy ever gracefully dodged the heavy bag’s swing-back and landed several more blows in return—“you’re totally creeping me out over here.” 

“How so?” 

For the past two hours, Spike hadn’t moved very far from his particular spot against the training room wall as he and Buffy waited for word from the ex-Watcher.  True, while she was letting off some steam, he hadn’t been much company.  His mind was too busy chewing over and over the same needless worries that were back with a vengeance from this morning.  Well, these uncertainties weren’t all he’d focused on.  During the lulls between bouts of self-flagellation and being an all and out milksop, he’d waxed poetry on her deadly splendor.  For not saying or doing much more than staying in his own noggin, he’d actually kept himself quite busy.

_Now, what rhymed with dauntless?_

“That!  That whole quiet, standing around, watching thingy you’re doin’.”  Buffy grabbed the swinging bag, stilling it.  “And by the way, don’t think I haven’t noticed you doing this earlier.  You haven’t really said anything since we stormed Evil Inc. and warned Angel.  What’s going on?”

“Just thinkin’ is all.”  Spike shrugged.

“Yeah, something’s totally wrong here.”  Buffy raised a meticulously shaped brow and smirked.

“Thanks ever so, Slayer.”

“See, now I know there’s something wrong.  You only call me Slayer when you’re trying to back away.  I know your game, Spike. It’s text book Psych 101, that whole you separating yourself from me by dehumanizing me shtick.  Or is it humanizing in this case?  Whichever, it doesn’t matter.  All I know is that you’re pissed off about something and for some bizarro reason you don’t want to talk about it.”  Buffy walked toward Spike, her gaze intense and fixed.  “Well, whatever it is, sooner or later I’m gonna figure it out.” 

In that moment, Spike never felt so vulnerable.  It was like his insides were exposed, laid out for display and critique.  Unable to take her silent scrutiny any longer, he looked away.  All the sudden finding his boots really interesting.

“Ta, Sigmund.  All you’re missin’ is a cigar and a couch, and you’d feel right at home inside my head, eh?” 

“Yeah, you so don’t wanna even go there, Id boy.”  Buffy cupped Spike’s face, drawing his attention upward.  “Spike.  Talk to me.  Please.”  

The way she was looking at him, so open, so honestly willing to listen, nearly broke him in two.  He wanted to tell her.  Wanted to open his mouth and let all his insecurities, pain, and emotions come spilling out.  Yet he held back and couldn’t figure out exactly why.  Whether it was apprehension, fear of rejection, or some other deep-seated ill ease, something was staying his tongue and only allowing a mere trickling of the truth to flow, instead of the deluge churning and raging inside.

“Just trying to wrap my head around all of this s’all.”  Spike pulled from Buffy’s touch and turned slightly, absently occupying himself with the weapons hanging on the wall behind them while he spoke, “Sleeping Beauty waking up, your slayer dreams on re-run, that blasted book, me materializing out of that gaudy amulet in King Broody’s office…none of this makes any bloody sense.  And don’t even get me started on my jumbled thoughts about me and—” Before Spike finished, the door swung open and Angel entered.  

“Wesley’s back.  Everyone’s waiting in my office.” 

“Angel, can you give Spike and I a minute, we’ll be—”

Spike stopped admiring the double-bladed kamas, turned toward Angel and started speaking right over Buffy, cutting her off mid-sentence, “We’re coming.”  Spike watched Angel’s eyes shifting between the two of them before nodding and leaving the room.  With Angel gone, Spike looked at Buffy.  “You’ve been waiting a long time for this.  Come on, let’s get schooled.” 

Not giving her a chance to argue or question him any longer, Spike exited through the double doors and headed toward Angel’s office.  He knew Buffy was clearly pissed off, going by all the loud huffing and the grumblings under her breath, with bonus feet stomping going on behind him.  Yet she followed him all the same.

 

*****

 

The Team was gathered in Angel’s office.  Fred, Gunn, Lorne sat on one side, with Cordelia on the other, leaving two empty spots next to her for Spike and Buffy.  Angel took a seat at one end of the table, giving up his usual place to Wesley.  Who stood at the helm with Buffy’s book as well as a small stack of notes lay out on the table in front of him.   

“Let me start by saying, by utilizing the Primordial Sanskrit passage in the _Devandiré Codex_ I was able to establish a pattern of characters, or if you will, an alphabet, which was rather useful with the overall translations.”  Wesley opened Buffy’s book to the last page.  “Many of the earliest passages I found were detailed chronicles of the endless battles between mankind and the Old Ones.  It appears by all accounts the Old Ones were nearly invincible and the fate for mankind was almost all but lost.  This remained so until The Powers intervened and gave three powerful African shamans the guidance, strength and magicks to fight back.  These men risked life and limb to harness a demon’s essence and create the greatest warrior for the Powers and the fiercest protector of mankind: _‘In every generation there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the’_ —”

“ _The Slayer_.”  Buffy abruptly stood from the table, knocking back her chair.  “Wow.  Great story, Wes.  So now is everyone ready to know the actual truth about what the Shadow Men had done?  They kidnapped Sineya, a _girl_ from a local village, chained her to the floor of some cave and let a _demon_ force its way inside her.  And if that wasn’t bad enough, then they took everything away from her—her choices, her love ones, her future—while they sat on their collective asses as she fought alone the demons, night after night.  Then finally one day, after some demon got the better of her and fulfilled that deep down death wish she always fought against but at the same time secretly longed for, she was done.  And it was over.  Only she didn’t know the truth that this goes on and on.  It’s never over and it’s never done.  Never.”  Buffy pushed away from the table and stormed toward the door.  Before reaching her destination, she turned back toward the table. There was still a question that was burning her mind and scorching her tongue—one she _needed_ to ask.    

“So tell me, why a teenage girl?” 

Resembling snagged flies in a spider’s web, the others’ buzzing just stopped.  She felt all eyes were on her, but her focus was solely on Wesley.  She watched him look toward the others, maybe for support, maybe because he wasn’t sure what answer she wanted.  All stayed quiet until she heard a voice.  But it wasn’t Wesley who had responded.  It was Spike.

“Well, quite simple really. At that age, a girl’s body is strong enough to accept and contain the demon, but their mind is still young enough to be malleable.  Impressionable.  Willing to accept what they are told to do.  No questions.  No hesitations.  And none of those pesky independent thoughts.  Add to that no family or friends and only her Watcher to rely on?  Easy pickings for the Council.  Now, if the chosen one was obstinate or willful, and wouldn’t play good littl’ puppet in the Council’s show, well, no worries, it’s an easy fix.  See, it never truly mattered ‘bout the girl at all.  It never mattered if she lived or died, since the Council had their surety that when one snuffs another one rises.  All nice and neat like.  A Slayer’s disposable and in the end, the only thing that had mattered to the Council was that the weapon in their hand was easily wielded.  Nothing more.”    

Buffy felt all the color draining from her cheeks, yet she felt a white-hot heat racing through her veins bringing her to the knife’s edge.  She needed to get out of there.  _Now_.    

“Buffy!”

Ignoring Spike calling out to her, Buffy rushed from the room.  Without direction, only purpose, she made her way through the maze of hallways, suddenly finding herself where today all started, the storage closet.  Once inside she frantically searched through the stacks standing between her and the escape hatch.  A few moments later, she heard the door open and felt Spike behind her.  She didn’t stop.

“So, time to leave, is it?  In case you were unaware, there is a front door to this place.” 

Buffy heard Spike sidestepping the flurry of toilet paper rolls as she continued her search.  “So not in the mood right now, Spike.  Get the hell outta here.”

“No, we need to suss this out.”

Knowing Spike was going to be a Grade-A pain about this; Buffy spun around and faced off with him.  Every moment that passed, she felt her anger mounting.  It was now reaching the level of all consuming.  “No, no we so don’t.  Go.  Away,” Buffy grounded out her warning through gritted teeth.  But, of course, instead of Spike listening, in his typical, pig-headed way he challenged her by stepping closer and invaded her personal space.  This only added fuel to the already raging fire in her belly.   

“So you wanna suss this out?  Fine.  Where should we start?  Huh?  Should we start with how The Slayer of Slayers is here to tell me some more about how disposable slayers are?  How disposable _I am_?  Or maybe you’re gonna impart more of your twisted wisdom by explaining away what those bastards had done to Sineya and every other girl who became and died, or will die, all in the name of being a slayer?  Or my personal favorite, do you want to talk again about the two slayers you killed?  You want to talk about that?”  Buffy was met with only his silence and stare.  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.  Excuse me.”

Buffy turned back to the task at hand.  After tossing away a few more rolls, she unearthed the lever.  Without finesse or tempering her own strength, she grabbed the offending wooden handle and accidently broke it in half.  “Damn it!” Behind her she heard Spike dropping to the ground, barely managing to avoid the flying piece of wooden handle leaving Buffy’s grip. 

“Bloody hell, Slayer!”

Buffy turned and her eyes widen as she stared at the shard of wood imbedded in the wall.  It stuck in the place where Spike was once standing, right where his heart was just moments before.

“Spike!  Oh my god, Spike, are you okay?”  Buffy knelt, her hands urgently running over him checking for any injuries.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”

“’m alright, no worries.  Guess that’ll teach me for interrupting you when you’re in a snit, yeah?”

Spike gave her a smirk which she couldn’t help returning with a soft smile of her own.  In spite of her going for his heart, figuratively and even more so, literally, she knew with a few smiles, all was good between them again. Well, good as good can get with all that was going on. 

“Now that all the wooden killing implements are safely out of reach, care to tell ol’Spike what’s goin’ on in that pretty littl’ head of yours?”  

Spike sat up and tenderly took both of her slightly shaky hands in his, stilling them.  She felt herself instantly calming.  Buffy lowered herself and sat on the floor across from Spike.  It was amazing how at one time Spike was the one inciting her anger, not quelling it.  In such a short period of time, he’d become her anchor in the endless turbulence that was her life.  And right now, she knew he’d patiently wait until she was ready to talk.  It didn’t take long. 

“It’s just…listening to Wesley, then you, talk about slayers like we are, like _I am_ some sort of answer to a problem.  That we’re nothing more than a multipurpose tool, like some demon Swiss Army knife or something else just to use and dispose of.  Like we’re not an actual living, breathing human beings, but things and…it, it _really_ pissed me off.  Which, hey, was already half way there cause, hello?  Sore subject.  Between the whole chaining me to a cave floor and having starring roles in my dreams, I wasn’t too peachy keen about the Shadow Men to begin with.  And let’s just say, for the last few months I’ve been pretty on edge already and this was the final two-hand shove over.”

Buffy felt Spike brushing his thumbs tenderly across her wrists, his touch was the soothing balm for her pain.  “No doubt, luv.  But, and now ‘m playing devil’s advocate here, let’s not necessarily throw Percy to the wolves quite yet.” 

Buffy shot him that _look_ , the stake first ask questions later look, and she knew that he knew he had to talk quickly. 

“Now hear me out.  Yeah, he’s on Team Angel now, but you gotta remember all the years the Council had their mouths at his ear, cramming his head so full of shite that it’s no surprise whatever he had to say on the matter would all be from rote.  The words blurting out like some bleedin’ reflex.  Watchers, just like their keeps, were never meant to have a mind of their own.  They were taught to always follow, keep in line.  Never lead.  And _never_ question the Council.  Good little automatons, they were.  “Just bricks in the wall”.”  Spike shook his head in what was seemingly annoyance.  “And you of all people know what comes from a Watcher stepping out of ranks.  Ol’ Ripper was kicked out of the Council, nearly deported, and no doubt there were other nasties those wankers threatened.  But the only reason why nothin’ came of any of it, no doubt, was his bitch Slayer.”

“Hey!” This earned him a half-hearted indignant swat from Buffy.  Spike grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips.  One by one, he placed a soft kiss to each knuckle, his eyes never leaving her face as she felt herself softening with every tender caress and word.  

“Who, they knew without a doubt” _kiss_   "was willing to risk her own life and limb”  _kiss_  “and had a hundred times over”  _kiss_   "to fiercely protect those she loves.”  Spike gently drew her forward, placing the final kiss to her lips.  Then just as quickly as it began it was over.  It was way too soon for her liking.

“Now, let’s get back, sweetheart.  Despite you storming out, I know you’re itching to finally know what’s going on.”  With a parting kiss to the tip of her nose, Spike fluidly stood and held his hand out to Buffy. 

But she couldn’t take his hand, not yet.  There was something else troubling her.  Something she’d buried so deep inside that had during the past year, along with loosing Spike, nearly hollowed out her insides.  And finally after all this time, she was finally letting these memories rise to the surface and for the tears to come.  “What’s this all about, luv?”  Spike knelt in front of her and gently gathered her hands, again steadying her and giving her the strength to ask the question burning inside. 

“Am I just as bad as the Shadow Men?  I did exactly what they did.  To win a war, I sacrificed hundreds, maybe thousands of potentials by making them slayers.  And I never, not once, thought about what would happen after.  I was only focused on the fight.  I never thought how I was changing their whole lives while I selfishly took away their right to make their own decisions and choices.  I took them away from their families.  I took away _everything_.”  Buffy pulled her hands away and angrily swiped away her tears.  “No, I’m worse.  I knew what being the slayer meant and I still forced on each and every one of them this life, and I in turn, gave them all a death sentence.  I’m so much worse.”

Buffy was afraid to look up, afraid of what she might see in his eyes: Loathing. Disappointment. Agreement.  Yet when his fingers cupped her chin and tilted her face up to meet his, she was relieved in what she found, pure unadulterated admiration. 

“My girl’s still carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.”  Spike lowered down and sat on the floor, then drew Buffy onto his lap.  She rested her head against his chest and he ran his hand through her hair with soothing strokes. “You luv, are nothing like those sanctimonious bastards.  Yeah, you made a decision to make all the potentials into an army of slayers.  And yeah, you gave them a life they never asked for, but you also gave them a gift.  A gift of an undeniable strength resonating from deep within that will never be taken or defeated by the likes of any demon.  Or man.  And never again will one girl ever have to face anything alone.  You’re the one who gave them this amazing gift, Buffy.  You selflessly gave them a piece of your soul.  It was you.  Only you.”   

Buffy felt Spike place a lingering kiss to the crown of her head, while the cotton of his shirt drank up her tears.  Buffy nuzzled into him and she murmured the faintest, “Thank you.” into chest.  They stayed this way until she felt ready to face the world again.  With a deep, cleansing breath, she shifted and he helped her to stand before following.  Absently she righted herself, wiping away stray traces of mascara under her eyes and the wetness from her cheeks.  Then taking a final steadying breath, she moved to the door and with one hand on the knob, she turned toward him.

“You’re right, you know.  I’m willing to risk my life and limb to fiercely protect those I love.” 

With that she opened the door and headed into the corridor, and Spike followed soon behind.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “All they were we're just bricks in the wall” is a line from “Another Brick in the Wall” by Pink Floyd’s album The Wall. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Another_Brick_in_the_Wall
> 
>  
> 
> *peeking through fingers* Well? Thoughts? Comments? Merry bushels of cash? I'll take 'em. Just know, this is only the first jab of the jab cross jab combo I'll be throwing. There's so much more to come *insert evil laugh here*


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello gentle viewers! Here is the next installment to my tale. Before you get started, please let me take a moment to give a HUGE THANK YOU TO MY AMAZING BETA, ETRAYTIN. With her guidance and suggestions, and overall awesomeness, she helped whip this chapter into shape. Thank you so, so much lady!!!
> 
> Now, without further adieu...

It wasn’t long before Spike caught up to Buffy in the corridor and together they continued on to Angel’s office in comfortable silence.  It was a silence forged from years of mutual acceptance and the gaining of trust in and for one another.  It had been a long painful road for them both, but she wouldn’t change a single thing—monstrous potholes, heavy construction, notorious road side ditches and all.  After all this time, after so many false starts and abysmal endings, she was finally with someone who accepted _all_ of her—the good, the bad, and the way ugly.  True, in the beginning Spike was the major cause and had loudly rejoiced in the latter two.  But in the later years, while at times he was still the cause, he’d also witnessed and experienced these with her first hand.  Yes, each of them was a bit worse for wear, but every experience brought them to this point in their lives—or unlife as the case may be—both separately and together.  And this meant something.  Actually, this meant _everything_.     

And it was together they entered Angel’s office.  As almost on cue, the steady humming of chatter stopped abruptly among those seated around the table and all their gazes moved from one another to them, or more accurately, to her.  Unsure what else to say or do, Buffy offered up a small wave and a tight-lipped smile.

“Hey, guys.”  

Like a poorly orchestrated tennis match, one by one each pair of eyes shifted from her to Wesley.  Who, clearly out of necessity from his earlier ‘foot-in-mouth’ fiasco in which she knew everyone was still talking about until they interrupted, stood and headed in her direction looking sheepish. “Um…may I have a word, Buffy?”  

She nodded, and then watched Spike head off toward the others.  Sure, Spike was putting on a good show by dusting off his long-forgotten Victorian gentilities by giving Buffy and Wesley space to talk, but she knew better.  Spike was an A-plus eavesdropper and she had no doubt he’d be listening in the whole time.  With a slight shake of her head, Buffy turned and faced Wesley.  She knew instantly, going by the look of pure guilt he wore, he’d prepared a lengthy apology—one of watcher-sized proportions.  Being that she was so not in the mood, she decided to take the lead.  Not wanting him to start the snoozefest before she had her say.   

“Wes, I know we haven’t exactly seen eye to eye in, well, ever.  And I get that everything you’ve learned about Slayers was through the Council.  Well, the tweed brigade and a crash course with me and double-agent slayer, who hooked up with a germaphobe Mayor slash big ol’ snake demon that tried to chomp down on my whole graduating class.  Which I’ll totally give you, was screwy for your first gig.  I get that.  But you need to understand, the Council was wrong about a lot of things.  Slayers, demons, souls…and that’s just the tip of the Titanic-size evil iceberg.  Believe me, they got it way more wrong than they got it right.”

Buffy watched Wesley’s expression of guilt changing into one of understanding.  “I’ve experienced and accepted many things, during my time away from the Council.  I thought I had grown well beyond their stilted, misguided thoughts, but I was mistaken.  For this I am deeply sorry, Buffy.”   

“Thanks, Wes.”  Buffy looked toward the table.  Just like she called it, Spike was watching them.  He wasn’t even trying to look like he wasn’t or apologetic that he was.  Not like the rest of them who were all the sudden busy _not_ spying, by shuffling papers, reading, or taking in the sights of the room.  After she gave Spike a soft, knowing smile, she turned back to Wesley.  “So, I’m ready to hear the rest.  Well, I am if you’re ready to tell me.”

Wesley nodded, and he and Buffy returned to the table and settled in.  While Wesley stood at the head of the table, he started absently shifting through his notes.  He looked completely unsure where or how to begin without causing her to freak out—again.    

Buffy offered him a smile trying to ease his discomfort. “Wes, don’t worry about it.  I filled my dramatic storming-out quota for the day.  Go ahead, give it to me.”  

Wesley nodded and cleared his throat.  “Yes, well, the battle between the Powers and the Old Ones was long and brutal, however, as you all well know, in the end mankind won.  The Old Ones were captured and banished for all of eternity to a mystical prison known as the Deeper Well.  All, that is, except for the one called Maloker, who is also known as the Prince of Nightmares, Ambrogio in _The Scriptures of Delphi,_ and by the ancient Mesopotamians as The Seven Demons. Like most of the Old Ones, Maloker refused to go quietly.  However, unlike the others, he evaded imprisonment by raising an army.  An army of vampires.”  Wesley opened the book and quickly skimmed the page.  When he found what he was looking for he started reading,

_“Our time is at hand._

_Our Father shall reclaim his rightful place upon the throne of flesh and bone._

_All who remain shall quake with fear._

_And their blood cleanses the Earth and feed the night.”_   

 

Wesley looked up from the book and scanned the group.  “The Powers that Be learned of Maloker’s plans and guided an extremely powerful coven to cast a spell that essentially sealed away Maloker’s entire army far away from his final resting place.”  Wesley cleared his throat, his finger marking the spot where he read from next,

_“The valley of the sun interns our Father’s formidable army._

_In the bowels of the Earth, they lay in wait._

_‘Til the blood of mankind flows into the mouth of hell._

_As from beneath they devour and feast,_

_the bringers of the end to all of days will be freed.”_

 

“Sunnydale,” Angel said the town’s name—half in wonder, half in disbelief—as he looked around the table.  His evident shock was mirrored in the others’ faces, Buffy’s especially.   

Spike caught on to Angel’s line of thinking and added, “So this Maloker was not only the be-all and end-all of sires, but he was also the Commander-in-Chief responsible for—”

“—the Turok-Han.”  Buffy’s stomach felt as if it was bottoming out and she was really close to not only tossing her cookies, but cake, pie, and any other round-shaped toss-worthy desserts.

Wesley shifted as he leafed through his notes.  “Ah, here it is.  As Maloker was raising an army of nearly indestructible vampires, he’d set another plan into motion. A failsafe to ensure if he and his army were defeated, his demon would live on through the same beings set on his demise—man.  Just as with many of the other Old Ones, Malokar’s demonic influence survived and continued to be felt despite his imprisonment in the Deeper Well. To this day, his living essence is carried on through the demonic energy of every vampire sired.”  He turned several more pages and began reading again,

_“Our Father bestowed two gifts eternal—one man, one woman—Archaeus and Lilith.”_

Wesley’s gaze shifted back and forth between Angel and Spike, then landed and stayed on Buffy.  “By all accounts, it appears Maloker sired Archaeus and Lilith, who essentially became the Adam and Eve of all vampires.”

“So I’m guessing by how busy I am on the reg, these two weren’t exactly slackers.  Instead of you know hanging out, exchanging apple recipes and fig-leaf couture; they were more the over-achievers in the ‘go forth and multiply’ department.”  Buffy humorlessly chuckled, her off-beat wit falling flat as she eyed the book and then Wesley.  

“Yes.  While Archaeus and Lilith remained together for well over a century, they alone sired possibly hundreds.  And their childer sired hundreds more and so on, to infinitum.”  

“So not only was this bloke and his chit juiced up on pure demon blood but on top of that, their sire was the father of all vampires?  Had to be damn near invincible, this pair.”  Buffy watched Spike glancing worriedly over at Angel, who returned his concerns and thoughts with a slight nod and a flash of dread in his eyes.

“But I don’t get it,” Buffy insisted. “If double-trouble were all that, why haven’t I heard of them before?  I mean, it’s not like vamps don’t exist unless I know about them, but I gotta say, as the slayer with seven years on a pretty active Hellmouth, there’s no way Giles wouldn’t have taken _that_ opportunity to bore me with some long-winded history lesson. Or at the very least we’d have run into some groupies from the ‘I love Archy and Lili fan club,’ seeing as how the way vampires show their love for their bosses tends to be more of the dead bodies and self-immolation type of love, less than, you know, a nice fruit basket or something.”  Buffy looked toward Spike, then back at Wesley, hoping someone had the answers she was searching for.

“I’ve, ah, never come across any writings on Archaeus or Lilith before today.  I’m assuming Mr. Giles hadn’t either.”  Wesley turned several pages, cleared his throat as he glanced down at the spot he bookmarked.  “However, I believe this might shed some light on why, at the very least, Lilith never made her way to Sunnydale.”  

_“She was torn from Him, as flesh from bone._

_Weapons of day and magick, power of three brandished._

_And the blood of His blood espouses vengeance forevermore.”_

“If my translation is correct, it seems from this and several other passages I’ve found, Lilith was at one point in time captured…”

In that instant, something just _clicked_.  It all made sense now:  Her strength.  Agility.  Super-fast healing.  The hunting.  The tinglies she had when one was close by…  

“Power of three?  It was Lilith, wasn’t it?  It was Lilith’s essence that the Shadow Men used to make the first Slayer.”  

Buffy felt all the color draining from her cheeks, yet she felt flushed, overheated.  Every sight and sound around her was crystal clear. Razor-sharp.  But at the same time everything was hazy and muffled.  Off in the distance she heard Angel order everyone to finish translating the book…now, and Cordelia making some off-handed comment about a vision and Buffy having fangs.  And in the midst of the swirling confusion, Spike was calling out to her.  She ignored him, too trapped in her own flood of emotions and thoughts.  Well, she had ignored him until he reached out to her.  Then lightening quick, her hand shot out reflexively, knocking his hand aside.  She simply couldn’t let him touch her.  Not now. If he had, she’d explode.  This was all too much.  

“I mean I knew.  I always knew deep down there was some connection.  Long before the vision quest with complementary bad special effects swirly-black-cloudiness.  I knew the Shadow Men used a _demon_ to make the First Slayer.  I just never really thought about what kind or where it came from.  But it makes sense, now that I know, know.  You know?”  

The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them, almost before she’d realized she was speaking at all. She wasn’t sure if she was making sense, and even less certain that she cared.  She looked everywhere but nowhere at the same time while her mind bounced from thought to thought, never settling on one for too long before more took its place.  Then without warning, one question struck sharp as a blade and nothing else mattered, only this.  

“Am I a vampire?”  

For several moments the question hung in the air; creating a tension so heavy it almost embodied a life of its own.  Spike reached out and took her hand.  This time she welcomed his supportive touch which grounded her as she waited for the answer.  With the way he was reassuringly squeezing her hand and by the way he looked at her, this silent encouragement spoke volumes.  She could practically hear him telling her that she was ‘daft’ for considering for one moment she was a vamp and that ‘he knew evil’, and ‘she wasn’t and would never be’.  His touch told her everything was alright, regardless of the outcome.   _Now_ she was ready to hear Wesley’s explanation.

“Ah, yes, well, the slayer is only the essence of the demon, not the demon itself.  When a slayer is called, who they were before isn’t replaced or displaced by the essence.  Your personality, your beliefs, your soul, it all remained intact.  As you know, this is not true for vampires. And of course you lack all the common features associated with vampirism: the aversion to sunlight and holy items, the fangs and deformed facial features, the immortality and the lust for human blood.”    

“Okay, not a vampire then.  I have just your standard demon essence thingy, kinda like having a gene for green eyes or a big boobs or something equally geney.  That’s good, right?” Then she looked at Spike, and tried to amend, “I mean not that being a vamp is—”  

Spike tightened his grip on Buffy’s hand.  “It’s brilliant, luv.  Never expected anything to the contrary.”  Spike turned his focus on Wesley.  “So now we know where slayers come from, riddle me this Percy, how exactly do those Council buggers keep tabs on them?  Always found that bit of a nut I couldn’t quite crack.”

“Ah, well, you all might find this quite interesting.  When Lilith was captured, the Shadow Men extracted most of the demon’s essence, which was imbued into the first Slayer and eventually partially dispersed among the potential slayers.  In most instances, besides the dreams of past slayers, this essence lay dormant in the uncalled potentials.  When this girl died, in the case of the Slayer, or reached adulthood, as is usually the case for potentials, the essence she held was passed on to the next potential.  It’s been this way for centuries.  

“For the remaining part of the essence, some was used to sustain Lilith’s body, while the rest was used to locate and track the slayers, both potentials and active alike.  The Council confined Lilith’s essence within a map, inside a mystically fortified glass case housed in the bowels of the Council’s building.  Through this the Council was able to accurately locate around the world every slayer and dispatch a watcher to where she was.” Wesley shifted and looked around the table taking in everyone’s off-put expressions, he muttered, “Or not. I found it interesting, at any rate.”  

“So you’re saying they used Lilith as a kinda slayer Lo Jack, huh?  I gotta tell you, so liking these guys less and less.”  Buffy kept her anger under check.  She knew getting mad wasn’t going to solve anything and she had promised to behave.  Taking a steadying breath she continued, “By how the Shadow Men were trying to give me a booster shot of Lilith’s essence to fight the First, I’m guessing she’s still around, right?”              

“Yes, but she’s not on this plane of existence.  Since the First Slayer was called, the Shadow Men are using powerful majicks to protect and preserve Lilith’s physical body in order to ensure the slayer line will continue on.  If by chance Lilith were somehow dusted or freed, her essence would abandon all other beings it inhabits and reunite with its original host.  The natural state of one’s essence is to be whole, not fragmented.”  

“That was the First’s plan all along.”  Angel stood and started pacing.  “It must’ve started after Buffy drowned.  She split the line, and then there were two active slayers.  The First had to have known there was a potential for more.  A whole army more.  That’s why the First tried to get Buffy through me.  Probably figured if Buffy died, the original slayer line would’ve ended and possibly taken the new line with it as well.”

Buffy watched Angel pacing, her mind quickly meeting up with his as she finished off his train of thought, “And when that didn’t happen, The First laid low waiting for another chance.  That explains why last year the Harbingers slaughtering all those potentials.  By these girls dying, it freed Lilith’s essence.  And if The First had had its way, when there was enough pieces put back in the Lilith puzzle, she would’ve been strong enough to fight back.”  

“And in turn, end the slayer’s line once and for all,” Spike added then gave Buffy’s hand a final reassuring squeeze before letting go.  

Buffy felt instant loss of his touch, but the feelings it had evoked stayed strong as she pushed on.  “So lucky for us, the First’s off licking its wounds, waiting for another opening to get all taunty again.  At least this time we’re way ahead of the game.  Not like The Trio of Doom helped any during my almost one-way visit to Thunderdome.  And can I say for the record, so, so hate that cryptic, riddle-me-this BS with a passion.”    

All eyes fell on Angel briefly, and then returned to Wesley as he added, “No doubt the First will make another attempt.  Evil never stops.  It just keeps trying until…”

At that precise moment Harmony walked in.  “Excuse me, boss?”

Angel stopped pacing and looked at Harmony, his brow furrowed and eyes narrowed; clearly he was irritated by the interruption.  “Not now, Harmony.”

“Ok, but do I get the afternoon off, too?”  Harmony flipped her hair off her shoulder and with her hip cocked to the side; she already looked bored with the conversation going anywhere beyond a ‘yes’.     

Interest clearly piqued, Angel approached Harmony.  “What are you talking about?”

“Everybody's gone. The whole building cleared out a few minutes ago. Some sort of code seven or something or other.”  

“Yeah, I’m thinking code seven isn’t a good thing, Angel.” Gunn stood from the table and hurried to the phone to call security.  

Angel turned toward the rest of the group, his face shifting from man to demon. “We need to find Eve.   _Now_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialog taken from “You’re Welcome”
> 
>  
> 
> The Scripture of Delphi http://www.gods-and-monsters.com/scriptures-of-delphi.html
> 
> The Seven Demons: http://vampiresaroundtheworld.weebly.com/mesopotamia.html
> 
>  
> 
> *peeking through fingers* Soooo...whatcha think? How many of you thought the last chapter was all that the book contained, mmm? Well, I'm hoping the big reveal (or at least a portion of) was there was something completely unexpected. Please take a mere moment to let me know your thoughts. Thanks!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here is the next installment to my tale. Before you get started, please let me take a moment to give a HUGE THANK YOU TO MY AMAZING BETA, ETRAYTIN. Just like the last chapter, with her guidance and suggestions, and overall awesomeness, she helped whip this chapter into shape. Thank you so, so much lady!!! Blow Kiss
> 
> Now, without further adieu...

Whatever this Code Seven was that had evil guys running scared of other evil guys, it was clearly of the bad.  Unfortunately, without the MIA liaison to the Senior Partners there to fill them in on how bad it really was, they were all pretty much clueless. As per usual, instead of guessing or waiting for this bad to come find them, Angel jumped into action.  After he’d barked out some commands, everyone split up to find this now-elusive Eve.  

While Buffy and Spike wandered aimlessly through the corridors playing a twisted form of hide-and-seek, Buffy offered up her idea of finding Eve, _“I’m thinking, well, if I, well human me not slayer me, was trying to “discreetly” sneak out of the building pass a master vampire who was also my boss but at the same time was trying to look completely not guilty and all la-de-da casual, I’d definitely go the way with the most exposure.”_

And it was this suggestion that led them to Wolfram and Hart’s sun-drenched main lobby, where the deep shadows of the spiraling staircase offered sufficient cover as they waited. And waited.  Buffy was dubbed look-out by default, due to Spike’s pesky sun allergy and the lobby’s non-vamp-friendly glass.  Yet she was totally shirking her duties, since her focus was mainly on Spike.  In her defense, she just couldn’t help herself.  Seeing Spike even in indirect sunlight was an opportunity she wasn’t going to squander.  She’d only had this chance once before, during the whole Gem of Amara fiasco. At the time, she’d been too busy trying to avoid becoming the third notch on his slayer belt to appreciate the utter hotness that was Spike: the model-perfect planes of his face, the fullness of his lips, the near flawlessness of his pale skin, and how strikingly blue his eyes were—the same ones trained on her right now.

“Assure you ‘m flattered, luv, but since you’re no Skilosh Demon, need to keep an eye out for Eve, not on yours truly.”  Spike gave her a wink, and she melted.

“Can’t help myself, you’re just so pretty.”  Buffy felt a quick rush of embarrassment, accompanied by a full body flush from her outright appreciation.  But this only lasted a moment since she had nothing to be ashamed of.  He was beautiful and _hers_ and damn it, why not say it out loud?

“Is that so?” He gave her his signature panty-dropping tongue curl and predatory head-tilt as he sauntered closer.  He was so close now and she was instinctually drawn even closer.  Like Mothra to a big ol’ bonfire flame.  Stakeout and Code Seven be damned.

“Yes, that’s so.”  Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss.  Even with all the craziness and unexpectedness of the day, she found comfort in the thought that, despite it all, Spike was her rock.  No matter what came their way, they would face it together.  

Spike broke their kiss and rested his forehead against hers.  “Bloody hell.  Gotta get back to work.”  Spike pulled away and nodded toward a well-dressed, petite dirty blonde quickly making her way toward the main doors.  “Showtime, luv.”  Buffy and Spike stepped out from the shadows, and he gave an exaggerated throat clear.  “Leaving so soon, Eve?”

Buffy watched Eve startle and spin on her heels to face them, her eyes wide in surprise. Her expression didn’t last long before stunned morphed into the mask of indifference and boredom with ease.  “I am.  Not that this is any concern of yours, Spike.”

“Well, actually there’s where you’re wrong.  Seems a code went out in the building that cleared the place out like hungry vamps at an all-you-can-eat free virgin blood party.  And I reckon from the way you’re scampering off, you know something of it.”  

Eve took a step forward, which not only brought her closer to the doors, but placed her directly in the center of a wide band of sunlight.  And like the snake she was, she basked in its warming heat with a pleased smile teasing her lips.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.  But I will let you both on a little secret,”—Eve leaned forward—“seven is my lucky number.”  

Now Buffy, being the eight-year reigning Quip Queen herself and having made banter an art form,  normally would’ve been impressed by Eve’s sass.  But time wasn’t really on their side today, and there was something about this chick that was really grating on her last nerve anyway. In an “I’d-like-to-use-my-stake-to-scratch-your-back-by-going-through-your-front” kinda way.

Needing to end this pathetic standoff once and for all, Buffy loudly counted out seven steps which brought her into patch of sunshine with Eve.  Now standing face-to-face, Buffy smiled brightly as Eve’s eyes widened again.  “Are you so sure about that?”  Eve tried to bolt and Buffy grabbed her upper arm.  “Ah, ah, ah, no slithering off before we have ourselves a nice little chat.  Let’s go, Kaa.”   

“You…you’re not a vamp?  I thought that…look, I can’t stay here. I really have to go.”  Eve tried to appear contrite, undoubtedly hoping the fluttering lashes and newly adopted meekness would give Buffy pause and make her let go.   _Yeah, right_    Eve must’ve quickly realized Buffy wasn’t going to budge, so she tried again, adding pleading and a little foot-dragging to the sob routine.  “Where are we going?”

“Off to see King Knuckle-Dragger himself.”  As unaffected by Eve’s little performance as Buffy was, Spike flanked Eve and wrapped his hand around her upper arm.  “Looks like you’re not so lucky after all, eh?”  In sync, Buffy and Spike walked their newly captive liaison toward Angel’s office.  

 

“We've got a problem, Eve.”  Angel towered over Eve as she sat in the center of his office.  

It hadn’t taken long after Spike and Buffy showed up with their find for the others to return.  Each reported the building pretty much was a ghost town, and Lorne added that he would’ve been surprised if the resident spooks hadn’t packed it in as well.

“Damn right, you do. When I tell the partners that you had them assault and kidnap me—” Eve nearly hissed her threat at Angel.  Clearly somewhere along the way from the lobby to Angel’s office she’d grown a backbone.  Buffy had to give Eve her props.  So far she was totally holding her own and wasn’t backing down.  Either she was really brave or really stupid.  The jury was still out on which.       

Angel grabbed the arms of Eve’s chair and leaned forward into her personal space.  Buffy could’ve sworn he’d flashed a little fang as well.  “What's a Code Seven, Eve?”

“I don't know.  Seriously.”  That seemed to do the trick.  Eve’s resolve was quickly cracking, but it wasn’t enough for her to tell them what they wanted to know and time was running out.  

With a loud huff, Cordelia threw her hands into the air and approached Angel, who let go of Eve’s chair and stood to full height.  “Okay, this is getting us nowhere.  Angel, torture her.”  

“What?”  “What?”  Both Angel and Eve asked the same question, but for different reasons.  Angel looked confused.  Eve shocked, all the color drained out of her face until it looked that only the death-clutch she had on the arms of her chair kept her upright.  

“You heard me. We don't have a lot of time. Have at it.”  Cordelia waved her hand, appearing to play this off as not a big deal.  Eve turned a whiter shade of pale; clearly Cordy’s blasé attitude towards Angel’s blood-soaked past seemed to have the desired effect.   

“I can't just... torture her.”  Angel wrung his hands together, taking on the look of a shy schoolboy not an infamous master vampire with a flair and lust for pain.  

Fredstepped forward trying to support Angel’s plight. “He's right, Cordy. If we sink to her level—”  

Fred hadn’t a chance to suggest an alternative when in a blur of bleached blonde, Harmony tackled Eve and knocked her out of the chair onto the floor.  There was a brief tussle, but Harmony easily got the upper hand.  

“Harmony!”  Angel shouted, but more from surprise than in an effort to dominate the younger vampire, or even to discipline an employee.  Harmony clearly didn’t see it as a command to stop manhandling Eve.

Harmony stood in one fluid motion, her eyes shining with a wicked gleam as she grabbed Eve by the neck and held her in place. “Is this okay, boss?” she asked, slightly tightening her grip on Eve.  “I mean, I am evil, technically. I don't mind torturing her for the team.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Angel nodded. Eve tried pleading her case but it was cut short by Harmony landing a solid punch to her face.  

“Come on, you hussy!”  Harmony yanked Eve forward, snapping her head back upright and then added a backhand to the damage done to Eve’s face.  “Spill it!”

“Okay. Okay. Stop! It's a fail-safe.” Eve’s words were a bit slurred from the swelling of her split upper lip, courtesy of Harmony’s fist.  "They built a fail-safe—”

Hyped up by the violence or the scent of human blood, maybe both, Harmony punched Eve in the face again.  This time much harder, causing Eve to sag in Harmony’s grasp.  

“Harmony, she's talking.” Angel placed his hands on his hips, his tone one of curbed disapproval sounding like a father correcting his child.       

“She is? Already? Well, that sucks.”  Harmony unceremoniously dropped Eve back into the chair and stepped back, her disappointment evident.

Eve adjusted herself in the chair, her eyes flickering warily between Angel and Harmony.  “Look, the senior partners were never certain they could keep you under their thumb, so they created a fail-safe.  Housed it in the sub-levels of the building.”

“Great, what’s up with you evils and fail-safes?  What is it this time?”  Buffy stood and stepped closer to Eve.  

“I don't know what it is, exactly, but it's huge and pissed off…and was specifically chosen to destroy Angel.”  Eve visibly shuddered.  Maybe it was from her injuries. Maybe it was from the thought of what lurked in the bowels of Wolfram and Hart.  Most likely it was both.    

“How can I stop it?”  Angel moved closer to Eve, his gaze intense.   

“The only way to control it is in the chamber itself.”  Eve winced while using a tissue to dab at her bloodied lip.      

“Well, if that's true, then who activated it in the first place?” Fred looked to Eve for an answer, yet in spite of being vamp-handled, she wasn’t very forthcoming.  

“If someone has to run the show, they have to be down there now.” Gunn crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing on Eve.  His long-forgotten street vigilante persona shone through despite his thousand dollar suit and head full of the law.  

“Yes and this someone had to have the ability to slip past all of Wolfram & Hart’s security systems undetected.”  Wesley left the question hang of who this possibly was.

“Like Spike’s magically tattooed friend,” Lorne suggested, raising one hairless brow.   

“Spike, I don't wanna go in blind. Anything else you know about this guy?”  Angel turned toward Spike, who was still casually leaning against Angel’s desk and watching the whole scene unfold.

Spike shrugged.  “Not much. Average size. Dressed like an urban cowboy. Got his hand chopped off once.”  

“His hand?”  Cordelia looked quickly at Spike then her gaze made its way over to Wesley then Angel, recognition dawning across her features.

“He's back.”  Wesley nodded, confirming Cordelia’s silent theory.

“Lindsey.” Angel shook his head, his hardened gaze returning to Eve, whose face remained impassive, not confirming nor denying Angel’s certainty.

“Who?”  Spike stepped forward, trying to involve himself in the trio’s mutual understanding.

Angel walked past Spike and headed toward the door, then turned back.  “Lock the building down, make sure he can't get out. Don't trust security systems. He won't show up because of those tattoos of his.”  

“There could be a way to fix that. I'll need some help.” Wesley looked around the room for takers.  

“My dance card's free.”  Lorne moved toward Wesley as he offered his help.

“Again, who’s Lindsey?”  This time, Buffy decided to ask since Spike wasn’t getting anywhere in learning who this guy was from Angel.

Cordelia turned toward Buffy.  “A lawyer.  Wolfram and Hart's former golden boy, till he ran off to go find himself.”  

“Yeah, he should've stayed lost.  Harmony, guard Eve.  She moves, eat her.”  Angel smirked.    

“Really?  Thanks.”  Harmony smiled broadly, and eyed Eve like she was a tray of exquisite desserts.  Eve looked panicked.   

“Wait, that bastard bloody played me.” Spike was talking, but nobody but Buffy was really listening.  At least he was in good company.    

“Angel, you're not going down there alone.”  Fred stepped toward Angel, her concern weighing heavily on her features.    

“The fail-safe's meant for me.  I'm not gonna risk anybody I care about.”  Angel gave Fred a quick reassuring squeeze of her shoulder.

“I'll go.  Gotta bone to pick with the boy.”  Spike stepped forward and flashed some fang at Eve.

“Okay.”  Angel looked from Fred to Cordelia.  “Be ready to evacuate. If this thing gets past me, get the hell out of the building.”  Angel started heading toward the door with Spike in tow.

“Past us.”  Cordelia stepped up.  

“No, no. Cordy—” Angel shook his head as Cordelia grabbed the samurai sword off the wall behind Angel’s desk.

“Yeah, save it, Angel. You can order me around all you want, but I know my rights.”  Cordelia unsheathed the sword with flourish.  “And I wanna see a lawyer.”

Cordelia and Angel left the room with Buffy and Spike following.  The four briefly stopped off at the training room for Buffy to arm herself with the double-bladed kamas Spike was admiring earlier, and then they all made their way to the lower levels of Wolfram and Hart.

 

*****

 

As the four of them stood at the mouth of the room, Spike gestured to the green laser beams crisscrossing several inches off the floor.  “What the bloody hell is this?”  

“Let's find out.”  Angel stepped forward into the web of beams and an alarm sounded.  Several doors lining either side of the room slid open and out walked black-clad figures prepared for a fight.

“Zombies.  Oh, swell.” Angel rolled his eyes at the newest obstacle.    

Like a well-oiled machine, Angel, Cordelia, Spike, and Buffy began fighting off the zombies.  Though these walking dead were easily defeated, when one fell another quickly took its place, like an undead Pez dispenser. 

“We don't have time for this.”  Angel tore the head off the closest zombie, and threw it at another that was attacking Cordelia.

“Go on.  We’ll hold them back.”  Spike yelled over to Angel and Cordelia, who ran past the remaining zombies.  On pure instinct, Buffy and Spike positioned themselves back-to-back, each wearing a huge grin.  “Come on, lads.  No need to be gentle.  We're all dead men here.”

“Hey!”  Buffy sounded indignant, but the playful nudge she gave him that followed made Spike’s grin grow to Cheshire cat proportions, before they each threw themselves into the fight.

Time lost all meaning as they fell into a seamless ebb and flow.  A flawless dance, a natural give and take as one by one their opponents fell.  And it was bloody glorious.  Then something changed.

Spike felt the ground shudder, then the air around him shifting. He felt an extremely old presence surrounded him that called to his demon.  He faltered, thrown off kilter just enough to let one dead-eyed bastard get in a solid punch that knocked him into the wall.  Trying to regain balance, Spike heard the distinctive sound of metal hitting the floor before he saw Buffy, now weaponless, turning and heading toward the door Cordelia and Angel had disappeared behind.    

“Argh!”  Spike roared as he scrambled to his feet.  Blinded by an overpowering murderous rage, in a flurry of torn limbs and decapitations he quickly dispensed the remaining zombies in his path. All the while, Buffy remained motionless with both of her palms flush against the metal door.      

Once he reached her, the high from the adrenaline rush started to fade.  Spike felt his knees begin to buckle as he reached out and gently turned Buffy to face him.  Through golden demon eyes, he studied her.  Taking in her glassy-eyed stare, he recognized this far-away look instantly.  He’d seen it a thousand times before in those trapped in the web of Dru’s thrall.  

But before Spike could get himself and Buffy far away from whatever this was, he felt himself being sucked down further the rabbit hole.  He was quickly losing himself to his demon’s demands—demands that were suddenly much less about destruction and much more about lustful desire and dominance. 

Buckling under this need, Spike tightened his grip on Buffy’s upper arms as he leaned in to drink in her intoxicating scent.  Buffy, despite still-distant eyes, had no intention of succumbing to Spike’s amorous advances.  She snarled and twisted in his grasp, trying to escape.  Clearly she wasn’t giving in to him without a fight.  Spike growled, low and deeply, asserting his dominance.  She thrashed and fought back fiercely, but his demon gave no heed as he roughly jerked her against his chest, banding his arms around her to hold her arms down by her sides.  Though his demon relished the fight, _thrived_ on it, it still demanded more, demanded total submission. There was still one way he’d get this, even if she wouldn’t give it freely.  With a roar, he struck, sinking his fangs possessively into the pale column of her throat.  He held her in his jaws, not drinking but forcing her to submit.  She scrambled for purchase, but soon, little by little she gave in, sagging in his arms.  Surrendering.  Feeling her giving herself over to him, Spike released her throat then nuzzled and lapped at the twin marks he’d left behind.  His demon purred, satisfied by its conquest.    

Then, just as suddenly as the rampant, mindless need had come upon him, it was gone, leaving him back in control and completely stunned.  He never lost control like this.  Never before had his demon dictated his actions in such a way.  Adding to his confusion of what just happened, Spike felt the tide of his soul rolling in, bringing with it the white-hot waves of guilt and shame.  It took all his power to stand there with Buffy in his arms and her blood on his tongue.  He was left utterly torn between his soul wanting to beg for her forgiveness and his demon, the ever-present ringleader in this crazy-arse show, forbidding any sign of weakness.   

Spike heard the door opening and glanced over to see Cordelia supporting a still game-faced Angel, who was battered and bruised, and looking worse for wear.  

“What the bloody fuck is down there?”  Spike growled, his words raspy through fangs that he just couldn’t shake.

“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s bad.”  Cordelia tightened her grip around Angel’s waist.  

Spike was only given a moment to look down at the woman in his arms before she broke his hold and pulled away.  She still held his gaze, and what he saw reflected back nearly broke him.  It was a something he’d seen far too many times in the past—distrust.  Spike fought back the tears, fearing this was the final nail in his coffin.  He’d crossed the line he vowed he never would again—hurting the girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skilosh Demon: Are the Demons from Angel who had a third eye growing out of the back of their head. 
> 
> Mothra: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mothra Giant moth, part of Godzilla franchise.
> 
> Some of the dialog was taken from “You’re Welcome”. Of the dialog taken, some was taken directly and used verbatim, while others were modified to fit in with my story. As for the rest, well, it came from my own little twisted mind. 
> 
> Kaa: Is the snake from the Jungle Book. Spike reference to “king knuckle-dragger” was him saying Angel was like King Louie, the orangutan from this same story. 
> 
> “A Whiter Shade of Pale” is the name of a 1967 song from Procol Harum https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Whiter_Shade_of_Pale 
> 
> Yeah, yeah, I know overall things have been pretty peachy keen between Buffy and Spike, but in an homage to Joss, I can't just let that be. *insert evil laugh here* 
> 
> Please take a brief moment to let me know your thoughts! Thanks ever so!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I know. I've been neglecting this fic. But please know, this was not intentional. Between a slight mutiny of my muse's part (she was so wanting to participate in the Challenges) and overall RL, this took a lot longer to get up than intended.
> 
> Do to my impatience, this is unbetaed. If you see anything wonky, give me a holler.

Angel’s office had cleared out, leaving behind only Spike and Angel sitting at the large conference table.  Yet there wasn’t much conferring going on.  They had far more important things to attend to.  Spike was currently on his fifth bourbon and blood, heavy on the bourbon, while Angel was nursing his own fourth glass of otter.  It had taken them each two glasses of the ruby red before their demons gave way and took a backseat, and another two for the pair to go beyond grunts and monosyllabic exchanges.  For Spike, neither the borrowed metallic tang nor the smoky molasses traces washed away the potent taste lingering on his tongue, in his throat, in his gut… 

_ Buffy _

Long after the fangs receded, his demon’s insatiable hunger still gnawed at his insides.  It still demanded for him to possess Buffy in every way possible, for him to crawl deep inside her and lose himself completely—devouring her inch by glorious inch.  Yet he wouldn’t follow the demon’s lead.  This was one path, no matter how tantalizing the draw, he couldn’t head down.  Not again.  _Never_ again. 

Spike slowly felt the leash of his soul tightening, bridling the demon and dragging it back into the recesses of his mind, which finally allowed him to think beyond the lust.  Blood or otherwise.        

“Wanna fill me in on what the bloody hell went on down there?”  Spike took another long draught of his blood and bourbon cocktail, and held the mouthful a little longer than usual before swallowing. 

“I don’t exactly know.  One minute I’m fighting Lindsey while Cordelia was trying to shut the whole thing down.  Then the floor shifted under us and all I can see, all I can _feel_ is something powerful down there clawing its way to get out.  The next thing I know, I’m on the ground and all I can think about is the blood—Every.  Single.  Drop.”  Angel’s focus remained on the thickening ruby red coating the sides of his glass.

“Yeah, that’s kinda how a brilliant fight goes.  Well, if your doin’ it right.”  Spike eyed Angel, giving him a once over.  Then with a raised brow he continued, “But now that ‘m thinking about who ‘m talking to and knowin’ you’re more into the mind-fuck—nailing puppies to doors and takin’ out your newest-obsession’s family and friends one by one—then a good ol’ spot of straight up violence, I can see why you don’t understand what really gets the blood pumpin’.  Yours and theirs.”

“No, that’s not it.  When I was down there, I couldn’t think straight.  It was like I had no control and all there was, was the demon. And the worse part, the demon wasn’t just after Lindsey.  It was after Cordelia too.  Even more so.”  Angel whispered the last part, his gaze moving from his glass to Spike.  “I don’t know what I would’ve done if she hadn’t shut it down when she did.  I can’t remember a time, not even when Angelus was at his worse, when there was such…”—Angel eyes took on a faraway look, one of part shame, one part hunger—“blood lust.”

In an instant, Spike’s mind wandered to just that, when earlier he was battling his own demon… _Buffy in his arms, his fangs in her throat.  When she finally surrendered to him, how much he wanted her, completely.  If only—_

“Spike?” 

Angel’s voice pulled Spike’s mind back into the present.  Spike instantly knew, judging by Angel’s narrowed-eyed gaze and the deep furrowing of his five-head, that he was suspicious of what had preoccupied Spike’s mind so much so that he hadn’t said a word about Angel’s confession.  And with Peaches being all Nancy Drew-like, he’d stop at nothing to figure out what Spike had no intention of sharing. 

Better to take the focus off him and right quick.  Plus, any chance to put this bastard through the wringer and then some, Spike never let any opportunity pass to man the crank.

“Yeah, well, not all of us have everyone fooled, including themselves, into believing and hiding behind the whole dual personality thing, do we?” 

Angel tightened his grip, the glass in his hand on the verge of shattering under the pressure.  “Watch it, boy.” 

“What?”  Spike schooled his look into one of innocence.  “Just callin’ it like I see it, _Angel_.  Or is it _Angelus_ , you know, with the whole wanting to paint the place red with your lady love’s blood?”  Spike shrugged.  “See, I’m more the ‘take things a face value’ type of bloke. So enlighten me, Captain Chaos, since ‘m a little slow on the uptake here, but ‘m thinking…if it looks like a vamp and lusts for blood like a vamp, it’s a vamp, innit?  No matter what you wanna call yourself or how many times you try spit-shining up that tarnished, cursed soul of yours.”

“I warned you, _Willy_.”  Now in game face, Angel stood and knocked back his chair.  In an instant, Spike mirrored Angel’s actions and they were both growling and snarling, at the ready to tear each other apart.

“Am I interrupting something?”  Cordelia stood in the center of the room, arms crossed while wearing an expression of patronizing amusement. 

Spike and Angel remained locked in a silent showdown, neither moving until Angel conceded and was the first to lose the fangs before he’d leaned over and picked up his chair to sit back down.  Spike warily followed suit, keeping his eyes fixed on Angel the entire time.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”  Cordelia moved and sat at the head of the table, her eyes shifting between the two vamps.  “So…Wesley’s off doing his thing, trying to figure out what kinda big bad is in the basement.  You know, the same big bad that seemed to knock the three of you on your collective asses and left yours truly on hero duty.”

“Is Buffy—” Spike left his question hanging, unable to finish his thoughts afraid of what he might ask or, even more so, learning something far worse than what his own mind conjured up.

Cordelia eyed Spike, but didn’t say any more than, “She’s fine, off powdering her nose.”

Spike sensed there was a lot she wasn’t saying, and for that he was relieved. He was even more so relieved that Angel didn’t pick up on Spike’s uncertainty and Cordelia’s vague response.

The trio sat in silence for several beats before Cordelia sighed theatrically and shook her head.  “Okay, so is one of you two gonna fill me in on _what the hell_?”  Cordelia looked back and forth between them, brows raised.  “Look, I’m not even asking for an explanation how Lindsey got sucked up into the ceiling by some portable portal or even about the freako shadow-puppet show going on under our feet.  See, I’ve already penciled in that type of stuff on my calendar to happen every Tuesday, for like, permanently.  Hello, Sunnydale alum here.  Yet what I _am_ needing an explanation for is why you guys went all _The Call of the Wild_ down there.”

Clearly, Cordelia didn’t have a bloody clue how bad it really was down there.  Or how much danger she’d truly had been in.  All she saw was the surface stuff, them being unable to shake their fangs and sounding all growly.  She wasn’t aware of the bone-deep _hunger_ , or how much of the demon came through and how hard Angel fought back so she wasn’t another body on the long list of those Angel had sunk his teeth into, literally and figuratively, and left nothing behind but an empty shell. 

Yet to his dismay, Buffy hadn’t fared as well.  Spike was weak and she was the one who paid the price. 

Feeling Cordelia’s eyes on him Spike muttered a response before he took another drink and choked it down.  “And that’s the question of the hour, so it seems.”

“Well, it’s time to figure out the answer, don’tcha think?”  Cordelia crossed her arms and stared down at the two vampires who were looking everywhere but her.  After a few moments of silence, she followed up with, “A-hum…still waiting.” 

Angel still wouldn’t look at Cordelia.  Spike wagered he was too busy with the all-out, one-vamp pity-party going on in his head.  And from what Angel had shared with him earlier, it must be like bloody New Year Eve at Times Square in there.  And though Spike would’ve loved to join the festivities, even so much as to hang around for the countdown till the ball dropped; he was too busy trying to shut down his own guilt-ridden bash. 

_ Yeah, good times _

 “Um…we don’t really know for sure, why we couldn’t control our demons.”  Angel stalled a bit longer, his eyes focusing on the glass in his hands. “But whatever it is, it threw us all for a loop.  I’m guessing, what was down there is really old and extremely powerful, and obviously is tuned in with and can control those of the…supernatural predispositions.”    

Cordelia raised a single, well-shaped brow and scoffed, “Ph—lease, so not buying that.  It seems some _one_ , ahem you, has forgotten the woman who was part demon with mind-melting visions. And that this same woman had hung out on a higher plane for one boring-ass summer, and then was hi-jacked by some disgruntled ex-employee of the Powers that Be.  I mean, if anyone has the corner market on the supernatural that would be me.  And I was totally fine.  You guys on the other hand…”

“Not so much.” 

All eyes went directly to Buffy, who had taken up Cordelia’s previous position in the center of the room.  But unlike the shapely brunette, or even a Buffy of several hours earlier, this Buffy’s presence didn’t hold the weight or the sheer power it normally does. 

She looked so small and out of place.  So uncomfortable in her own skin.  She had her arms protectively wrapped tightly around herself as her eyes shifted around the room, never staying or focusing on one place too long.  Yet it wasn’t only her overall behavior that had Spike’s stomach roiling and his soul weeping, it was her physical appearance.  Her normally glowing complexion was drained of all color and what was left behind was a waxy, sickly pallor, and the distinct purplish shadows under her dull eyes and the bluish tint to her lips.  She looked drawn and haunted, ever the little lost girl. 

And was the one who done this to her.  

Spike wanted to go to Buffy.  Wanted to draw her into his arms, give her comfort and take away her pain.  But since she still hadn’t even spared him a single glance and he was the sole cause and creator of her suffering, he knew his attention and touch was clearly unwelcomed on her part and certainly undeserving on his. 

“Buffy, are you…”  Angel stood, looking ever ready the hero to swoop in to save the girl and the day, and take his rightful place by her side.  The place where Spike should be but lost all rights to the minute he hurt the girl.  Again. 

Yet, even as out of sorts as she was, Buffy stilled Angel’s movements and made him sit back down with a mere look.  “I’m fine.”  She moved closer then amended, “Actually, I’m not fine.  Far from it.  But the way I see it, the only way to fix this is by figuring out what the _hell_ that was and kill it.  Horribly.”

“Yeah, well, sounds like a plan but first we need to know what’s down there before we go all _kamikaze_ mission.  Agreed?”  Cordelia’s gaze darted back and forth among the others.

“Agreed.”  Angel answered Cordelia, but clearly all his attention was focused on Buffy as she moved to the other end of the table. 

Spike watched Angel intently, only daring a brief glance at Buffy before he figured out what Angel was fixated on.  Buffy’s neck.  Or more specifically, the marks on her neck… _his_ marks. 

At the same time realization set it, Spike heard an enraged roar before being thrown out of his chair and pinned down on the floor by his grandsire.  In an instant, Angel had become his judge, jury and executioner.  Not that this role was new for Angel, yet this time, Spike welcomed Angel’s entitlement.  Spike never fought back or stopped his punishment, and though his skin split and blood flowed, he felt Angel was far gentler than he deserved. 

Angel showed no signs of relenting, even as Buffy and Cordelia demanded for him to stop, and it wasn’t until Buffy screamed, “Angel, I let him!” 

In an instant, all stilled.  Angel deflated under her words and bonelessly slid off of Spike and onto the floor.  His demon retreated and all that was left was a teary-eyed man.  Or a pseudo likeness of one in any case.  “Buffy, you don’t…you can’t mean…”

Angel looked up imploring at Buffy as she bypassed him and went to Spike, who had shift from the floor and propped himself up against the wall. 

“My stupid, stupid vampire.”  Buffy knelt before Spike, and gently took his hand, giving him a soft smile.  All the while tears were in her eyes.

Spike wanted so desperately to explain what he barely understood himself. Though he felt he was not worthy of it, he wanted Buffy to know how sorry he was.  Any apology, he knew would sound hollow, but he still needed to try.  “’m so, so sorry, sweetheart.  I never meant to hurt my girl…”

Buffy silenced him by tenderly placing a chaste kiss to his swollen, split lips.  She pulled back slightly, her lips softly brushing against his as she spoke, “I forgive you.” 

Her mercy was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.  This was the closest to heaven he’d ever be allowed to touch or taste. 

They remained silent, just soaking in one another until Angel’s continuous under-breath mutterings changed to a distinctly louder announcement to the room, “I’m ending this…”

Spike felt Buffy stiffen, then he watched her rise and stand in between him and Angel.  She looked prepared to do battle if need be, and it was glorious witnessing the inner-strength of his girl returning. 

_ Gods, he loved this woman _ .

Angel didn’t give anyone a second glance as he headed toward the door, but he only made it part way before Cordelia moved and now stood in his way.

“So where do you think you’re going?”

“Cordelia, get out of my way.”  Angel growled, his demon sliding to the forefront.

“Oh please, like that’s gonna happen.  Plus the fangs, so not scary.”  Cordelia crossed her arms and challenged him with a hardened glare.

Angel let his demon recede, but he still stood firm.  “The only way to stop this madness is by taking that…that _thing_ down…now.”

“Not the wisest choice, Angel.”  Wesley entered the room with a fairly large book in hand, while wearing the same expression as all of the others in the room—utter exhaustion and dread.

“And why is that?” Angel stepped forward in challenge. 

“If you go down there to face off what Wolfram and Hart’s had chosen as a failsafe for you, you surely will lose.”  Wesley looked toward Buffy and Spike, and added, “You all will.”    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Captain Chaos is actually a jab at Angel. Captain Chaos is Dom DeLuise’s character from the movie Cannonball Run. When people would get in trouble, Captain Chaos would come running in, in a cape and mask saying “Dun, dun, dunnnn” and try to save the day. It was pretty humorous. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Captain_Chaos
> 
> The Call of Wild by Jack London https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Call_of_the_Wild 
> 
>  
> 
> Please take a brief moment to leave your thoughts. Each one is valued and appreciated immensely!

**Author's Note:**

> For Clarification:
> 
> This story’s timeline is based on the premise of 19 days passing between BTV’s “Chosen” (airing May 20, 2003) and when Spike materialized from the amulet in Angel’s office. This would make it June 8, 2003, not October 1, 2003, the date “Convictions” aired. Despite this change, I will be following Angel Season 5 fairly closely…with my own twists. Also, in my world the comics do not apply. 
> 
>  
> 
> I'd like to give a big thanks and hugs to my new beta, SlayerDaniWho. Please take but a brief moment to leave your thoughts.


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